"Pere Jerome"--She gnawed her lip and shook her head.
"Well?"
She burst into tears.
The priest rose and loosed the curtain of one of the windows. He did it
slowly--as slowly as he could, and, as he came back, she lifted her face
with sudden energy, and exclaimed:
"Oh, Pere Jerome, de law is brogue! de law is brogue! I brogue it! 'Twas
me! 'Twas me!"
The tears gushed out again, but she shut her lips very tight, and dumbly
turned away her face. Pere Jerome waited a little before replying; then
he said, very gently:
"I suppose dad muss 'ave been by accyden', Madame Delphine?"
The little father felt a wish--one which he often had when weeping women
were before him--that he were an angel instead of a man, long enough to
press the tearful cheek upon his breast, and assure the weeper God would
not let the lawyers and judges hurt her. He allowed a few moments more
to pass, and then asked:
"_N'est-ce-pas_, Madame Delphine? Daz ze way, ain't it?'
"No, Pere Jerome, no. My daughter--oh, Pere Jerome, I bethroath my lill'
girl--to a w'ite man!" And immediately Madame Delphine commenced
savagely drawing a thread in the fabric of her skirt with one trembling
hand, while she drove the fan with the other.
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