Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
Book online «Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ». Author Kate Chopin
âHe âlows, âNo, I ainâ gwine be sick, Bruce.â Den he square off. He say, âI kin mak out to stanâ up anâ giâ anâ take wid any man I knows, lessen hitâs John L. Sulvun. But wâen God Aâmighty anâ a âoman jines foâces agin me, datâs one too many fur me.â I tell âim, âJis so,â whilsâ Iâse makinâ out to bresh a spot off wâat ainâ dah, on he coat colla. I tell âim, âYou wants liâle resâ, suh.â He say, âNo, I wants liâle fling; dat wâat I wants; an I gwine git it. Pitch me a fisâful oâ cloâes in dem âar saddlebags.â Dat wâat he say. Donât you bodda, missy. He jisâ gone a-caperinâ yonda to de Cajun ball. Uhâ âuhâ âde skeeters is fairâ a-swarminâ like bees rounâ yoâ foots!â
The mosquitoes were indeed attacking Clarisseâs white feet savagely. She had unconsciously been alternately rubbing one foot over the other during the darkeyâs recital.
âThe âCadian ball,â she repeated contemptously. âHumph! Par exemple! Nice conducâ for a LaballiĂšre. Anâ he needs a saddlebag, fillâ with clothes, to go to the âCadian ball!â
âOh, Miss Clarisse; you go on to bed, chile; git yoâ sounâ sleep. He âlow he come back in couple weeks oâ so. I kiarn be repeatinâ lot oâ truck wâat young mans say, out heah face oâ a young gal.â
Clarisse said no more, but turned and abruptly reentered the house.
âYou done talk too much wid yoâ mouf aâready, you ole fool nigga, you,â muttered Bruce to himself as he walked away.
AlcĂ©e reached the ball very late, of courseâ âtoo late for the chicken gumbo which had been served at midnight.
The big, low-ceiled roomâ âthey called it a hallâ âwas packed with men and women dancing to the music of three fiddles. There were broad galleries all around it. There was a room at one side where sober-faced men were playing cards. Another, in which babies were sleeping, was called le parc aux petits. Anyone who is white may go to a âCadian ball, but he must pay for his lemonade, his coffee and chicken gumbo. And he must behave himself like a âCadian. GrosbĆuf was giving this ball. He had been giving them since he was a young man, and he was a middle-aged one, now. In that time he could recall but one disturbance, and that was caused by American railroaders, who were not in touch with their surroundings and had no business there. âCes maudits gens du raiderode,â GrosbĆuf called them.
AlcĂ©e LaballiĂšreâs presence at the ball caused a flutter even among the men, who could not but admire his ânerveâ after such misfortune befalling him. To be sure, they knew the LaballiĂšres were richâ âthat there were resources East, and more again in the city. But they felt it took a brave homme to stand a blow like that philosophically. One old gentleman, who was in the habit of reading a Paris newspaper and knew things, chuckled gleefully to, everybody that AlcĂ©eâs conduct was altogether chic, mais chic. That he had more panache than Boulanger. Well, perhaps he had.
But what he did not show outwardly was that he was in a mood for ugly things tonight. Poor BobinĂŽt alone felt it vaguely. He discerned a gleam of it in AlcĂ©eâs handsome eyes, as the young planter stood in the doorway, looking with rather feverish glance upon the assembly, while he laughed and talked with a âCadian farmer who was beside him.
BobinĂŽt himself was dull-looking and clumsy. Most of the men were. But the young women were very beautiful. The eyes that glanced into AlcĂ©eâs as they passed him were big, dark, soft as those of the young heifers standing out in the cool prairie grass.
But the belle was Calixta. Her white dress was not nearly so handsome or well made as Fronieâs (she and Fronie had quite forgotten the battle on the church steps, and were friends again), nor were her slippers so stylish as those of OzĂ©ina; and she fanned herself with a handkerchief, since she had broken her red fan at the last ball, and her aunts and uncles were not willing to give her another. But all the men agreed she was at her best tonight. Such animation! and abandon! such flashes of wit!
âHĂ©, BobinĂŽt! Mais wâatâs the matta? Wâat you standinâ plantĂ© lĂ like ole Maâame Tinaâs cow in the bog, you?â
That was good. That was an excellent thrust at BobinÎt, who had forgotten the figure of the dance with his mind bent on other things, and it started a clamor of laughter at his expense. He joined good-naturedly. It was better to receive even such notice as that from Calixta than none at all. But Madame Suzonne, sitting in a corner, whispered to her neighbor that if Ozéina were to conduct herself in a like manner, she should immediately be taken out to the mule-cart and driven home. The women did not always approve of Calixta.
Now and then were short lulls in the dance, when couples flocked out upon the galleries for a brief respite and fresh air. The moon had gone down pale in the west, and in the east was yet no promise of day. After such an interval, when the dancers again assembled to resume the interrupted quadrille, Calixta was not among them.
She was sitting upon a bench out in the shadow, with Alcée beside her. They were acting like fools. He had attempted to take a little gold ring from her finger; just for the fun of it, for there was nothing he could have done with the ring but replace it again. But she clinched her hand tight. He
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