Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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Monsieur Jean Baâs feeble intelligence reached out very dimly; it was like a dream which clothes the grotesque and unnatural with the semblance of reality. He shook his head up and down with pleased approbation of EsmĂ©eâs âUncle Alcibiade,â that tripped so glibly on her lips. When she arranged his after-dinner brĂ»lotâ âa lump of sugar in a flaming teaspoonful of brandy, dropped into a tiny cup of black coffeeâ âhe reminded her, âYour Uncle Alcibiade takes two lumps, EsmĂ©e. The scamp! he is fond of sweets. Two or three lumps, EsmĂ©e.â Bartner would have relished his brĂ»lot greatly, prepared so gracefully as it was by EsmĂ©eâs deft hands, had it not been for that superfluous lump.
After dinner the girl arranged her grandfather comfortably in his big armchair on the gallery, where he loved to sit when the weather permitted. She fastened his shawl about him and laid a second one across his knees. She shook up the pillow for his head, patted his sunken cheek and kissed his forehead under the soft-brimmed hat. She left him there with the sun warming his feet and old shrunken knees.
EsmĂ©e and Bartner walked together under the magnolias. In walking they trod upon the violet borders that grew rank and sprawling, and the subtle perfume of the crushed flowers scented the air deliciously. They stooped and plucked handfuls of them. They gathered roses, too, that were blooming yet against the warm south end of the house; and they chattered and laughed like children. When they sat in the sunlight upon the low steps to arrange the flowers they had broken, Bartnerâs conscience began to prick him anew.
âYou know,â he said, âI canât stay here always, as well as I should like to. I shall have to leave presently; then your grandfather will discover that we have been deceiving himâ âand you can see how cruel that will be.â
âMr. Bartna,â answered EsmĂ©e, daintily holding a rosebud up to her pretty nose, âWâen I awoke this morning anâ said my prayers, I prayed to the good God that He would give one happy Christmas day to my granâfather. He has answered my prayer; anâ He does not senâ his gifâs incomplete. He will provide.
âMr. Bartna, this morning I agreed to take all responsibility on my shoulderâ, you remember? Now, I place all that responsibility on the shoulderâ of the blessed Virgin.â
Bartner was distracted with admiration; whether for this beautiful and consoling faith, or its charming votary, was not quite clear to him.
Every now and then Monsieur Jean Ba would call out, âAlcibiade, mon fils!â and Bartner would hasten to his side. Sometimes the old man had forgotten what he wanted to say. Once it was to ask if the salad had been to his liking, or if he would, perhaps, not have preferred the turkey aux truffes.
âAlcibiade, mon fils!â Again Bartner amiably answered the summons. Monsieur Jean Ba took the young manâs hand affectionately in his, but limply, as children hold hands. Bartnerâs closed firmly around it. âAlcibiade, I am going to take a little nap now. If Robert McFarlane comes while I am sleeping, with more talk of wanting to buy NĂ©g SĂ©vĂ©rin, tell him I will sell none of my slaves; not the least little nĂ©grillon. Drive him from the place with the shotgun. Donât be afraid to use the shotgun, Alcibiadeâ âwhen I am asleepâ âif he comes.â
EsmĂ©e and Bartner forgot that there was such a thing as time, and that it was passing. There were no more calls of âAlcibiade, mon fils!â As the sun dipped lower and lower in the west, its light was creeping, creeping up and illuming the still body of Monsieur Jean Ba. It lighted his waxen hands, folded so placidly in his lap; it touched his shrunken bosom. When it reached his face, another brightness had come there before itâ âthe glory of a quiet and peaceful death.
Bartner remained over night, of course, to add what assistance he could to that which kindly neighbors offered.
In the early morning, before taking his departure, he was permitted to see Esmée. She was overcome with sorrow, which he could hardly hope to assuage, even with the keen sympathy which he felt.
âAnd may I be permitted to ask, Mademoiselle, what will be your plans for the future?â
âOh,â she moaned, âI cannot any longer remain upon the ole plantation, which would not be home without grandpĂšre. I suppose I shall go to live in New Orleans with my tante ClĂ©mentine.â The last was spoken in the depths of her handkerchief.
Bartnerâs heart bounded at this intelligence in a manner which he could not but feel was one of unbecoming levity. He pressed her disengaged hand warmly, and went away.
The sun was again shining brightly, but the morning was crisp and cool; a thin wafer of ice covered what had yesterday been pools or water in the road. Bartner buttoned his coat about him closely. The shrill whistles of steam cotton-gins sounded here and there. One or two shivering negroes were in the field gathering what shreds of cotton were left on the dry, naked stalks. The horses snorted with satisfaction, and their strong hoof-beats rang out against the hard ground.
âUrge the horses,â Bartner said; âtheyâve had a good rest and we want to push on to Natchitoches.â
âYou right, suh. We done losâ a whole blesseâ dayâ âa plumb day.â
âWhy, so we have,â said Bartner, âI hadnât thought of it.â
In and Out of Old NatchitochesPrecisely at eight oâclock every morning except Saturdays and Sundays, Mademoiselle Suzanne St. Denys Godolph would cross the railroad trestle that spanned Bayou Boispourri. She might have crossed in the flat which Mr. Alphonse LaballiĂšre kept for his own convenience; but the method was slow and unreliable; so, every morning at eight, Mademoiselle St. Denys Godolph crossed the trestle.
She taught public school in a picturesque little white frame structure that stood upon Mr. LaballiĂšreâs land, and
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