Then says Josselin, in French, turning to me with that delightful jolly smile that always reminded one of the sun breaking through a mist:
“I would sooner bleed on your blouse than on your tomb.” (J’aime mieux saigner sur ta blouse que sur ta tombe.)
So ended the only quarrel we ever had.
Part Third
“Que ne puis-je aller où s’en vont les roses,
Et n’attendre pas
Ces regrets navrants que la fin des choses
Nous garde ici-bas!”—Anon.
Barty worked very hard, and so did I—for me! Horace—Homer—Æschylus—Plato—etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., and all there was to learn in that French school-boy’s encyclopædia—”Le Manuel du Baccalauréat”; a very thick book in very small print. And I came to the conclusion that it is good to work hard: it makes one enjoy food and play and sleep so keenly—and Th
