"_Mais c'est pas la_" he kept repeating stupidly. The
Surveillant was uh-ahing at a great rate and attempting to pacify Jean in
French. I myself was somewhat fearful for Jean's sanity and highly
indignant at the _planton_. The matter ended with the _planton's_ being
sent about his business; simultaneously with Jean's dismissal to the
_cour_, whither I accompanied him. My best efforts to comfort Jean in
this matter were quite futile. Like a child who has been unjustly
punished he was inconsolable. Great tears welled in his eyes. He kept
repeating "_sees-tee franc--planton voleur_," and--absolutely like a
child who in anguish calls itself by the name which has been given itself
by grown-ups--"steel Jean munee." To no avail I called the _planton_ a
_menteur_, a _voleur_, a _fils d'un chien_, and various other names. Jean
felt the wrong itself too keenly to be interested in my denunciation of
the mere agent through whom injustice had (as it happened) been
consummated.
But--again like an inconsolable child who weeps his heart out when no
human comfort avails and wakes the next day without an apparent trace of
the recent grief--Jean le Negre, in the course of the next twenty-four
hours, had completely recovered his normal buoyancy of spirit.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344