And when, a week or so later, he left--I
was not surprised to have Mexique come up to us and placidly remark:
"I give dat feller five francs. Tell me he send me overcoat, very good
overcoat. But say: Please no tell anybody come from me. Please tell
everybody your family send it." And with a smile, "I t'ink dat feller
fake."
Nor was I surprised to see, some weeks later, the poor Spanish
Whoremaster rending his scarce hair as he lay in bed of a morning. And
Mexique said with a smile:
"Dat feller give dat English feller one hundred francs. Now he sorry."
All of which meant merely that Count Bragard should have spelt his name,
not Bra-, but with an l.
And I wonder to this day that the only letter of mine which ever reached
America and my doting family should have been posted by this highly
entertaining personage en ville, whither he went as a trusted inhabitant
of La Ferte to do a few necessary errands for himself; whither he
returned with a good deal of colour in his cheeks and a good deal of _vin
rouge_ in his guts; going and returning with Tommy, the _planton_ who
brought him The Daily Mail every day until Bragard couldn't afford it,
after which either B. and I or Jean le Negre took it off Tommy's
hands--Tommy, for whom we had a delightful name which I sincerely regret
being unable to tell, Tommy, who was an Englishman for all his French
_planton's_ uniform and worshipped the ground on which the Count stood;
Tommy, who looked like a boiled lobster and had tears in his eyes when he
escorted his idol back to captivity.
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