Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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âWell, Azenor,â he called cheerily in French, extending his hand. âHow is this? I expected you all the week.â
âYes, monsieur; but I knew well what you wanted with me, and I was finishing the doors for Gros-LĂ©onâs new house;â saying which, he drew back, and indicated by a motion and look that someone was present who had a prior claim upon PĂšre Antoineâs attention.
âAh, Lalie!â the priest exclaimed, when he had mounted to the porch, and saw her there behind the vines. âHave you been waiting here since you confessed? Surely an hour ago!â
âYes, monsieur.â
âYou should rather have made some visits in the village, child.â
âI am not acquainted with anyone in the village,â she returned.
The priest, as he spoke, had drawn a chair, and seated himself beside her, with his hands comfortably clasping his knees. He wanted to know how things were out on the bayou.
âAnd how is the grandmother?â he asked. âAs cross and crabbed as ever? And with thatââ âhe added reflectivelyâ ââgood for ten years yet! I said only yesterday to Butrandâ âyou know Butrand, he works on Le BlĂŽtâs Bon-Dieu placeâ ââAnd that Madame Zidore: how is it with her, Butrand? I believe God has forgotten her here on earth.â âIt isnât that, your reverence,â said Butrand, âbut itâs neither God nor the Devil that wants her!âââ And PĂšre Antoine laughed with a jovial frankness that took all sting of ill-nature from his very pointed remarks.
Lalie did not reply when he spoke of her grandmother; she only pressed her lips firmly together, and picked nervously at the red bandana.
âI have come to ask, Monsieur Antoine,â she began, lower than she needed to speakâ âfor Azenor had withdrawn at once to the far end of the porchâ ââto ask if you will give me a little scrap of paperâ âa piece of writing for Monsieur Chartrand at the store over there. I want new shoes and stockings for Easter, and I have brought eggs to trade for them. He says he is willing, yes, if he was sure I would bring more every week till the shoes are paid for.â
With good-natured indifference, PĂšre Antoine wrote the order that the girl desired. He was too familiar with distress to feel keenly for a girl who was able to buy Easter shoes and pay for them with eggs.
She went immediately away then, after shaking hands with the priest, and sending a quick glance of her pathetic eyes towards Azenor, who had turned when he heard her rise, and nodded when he caught the look. Through the vines he watched her cross the village street.
âHow is it that you do not know Lalie, Azenor? You surely must have seen her pass your house often. It lies on her way to the Bon-Dieu.â
âNo, I donât know her; I have never seen her,â the young man replied, as he seated himselfâ âafter the priestâ âand kept his eyes absently fixed on the store across the road, where he had seen her enter.
âShe is the granddaughter of that Madame Izidoreââ â
âWhat! Maâame Zidore whom they drove off the island last winter?â
âYes, yes. Well, you know, they say the old woman stole wood and thingsâ âI donât know how true it isâ âand destroyed peopleâs property out of pure malice.â
âAnd she lives now on the Bon-Dieu?â
âYes, on Le BlĂŽtâs place, in a perfect wreck of a cabin. You see, she gets it for nothing; not a negro on the place but has refused to live in it.â
âSurely, it canât be that old abandoned hovel near the swamp, that Michon occupied ages ago?â
âThat is the one, the very one.â
âAnd the girl lives there with that old wretch?â the young man marveled.
âOld wretch to be sure, Azenor. But what can you expect from a woman who never crosses the threshold of Godâs houseâ âwho even tried to hinder the child doing so as well? But I went to her. I said: âSee here, Madame Zidore,ââ âyou know itâs my way to handle such people without glovesâ ââyou may damn your soul if you choose,â I told her, âthat is a privilege which we all have; but none of us has a right to imperil the salvation of another. I want to see Lalie at mass hereafter on Sundays, or you will hear from me;â and I shook my stick under her nose. Since then the child has never missed a Sunday. But she is half starved, you can see that. You saw how shabby she isâ âhow broken her shoes are? She is at Chartrandâs now, trading for new ones with those eggs she brought, poor thing! There is no doubt of her being ill-treated. Butrand says he thinks Madame Zidore even beats the child. I donât know how true it is, for no power can make her utter a word against her grandmother.â
Azenor, whose face was a kind and sensitive one, had paled with distress as the priest spoke; and now at these final words he quivered as though he felt the sting of a cruel blow upon his own flesh.
But no more was said of Lalie, for PĂšre Antoine drew the young manâs attention to the carpenter-work which he wished to entrust to him. When they had talked the matter over in all its lengthy details, Azenor mounted his horse and rode away.
A momentâs gallop carried him outside the village. Then came a half-mile strip along the river to cover. Then the lane to enter, in which stood his dwelling midway, upon a low, pleasant knoll.
As Azenor turned into the lane, he saw the figure of Lalie far ahead of him. Somehow he had expected to find her there, and he watched her again, as he had done through PĂšre Antoineâs vines. When she passed his house, he wondered if she would turn to look at it. But she did not. How could she know it was his? Upon reaching it
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