"What a barbarian you are, Jobson!" said Allthings, "every thing is matter of fact with you. Do be still!" "Well, but I don't see the common sense," persisted Jobson, "if he was determined to kill himself, of leaving all the pies and things that they brought him, and starving himself and getting wet in the bargain, when he had a shorter way of doing the job!" "Suppose you go and ask him, Jobson!" said Paddock, smiling; "I don't know his reasons, if he had any. At all events, I tell the tale as I heard it, and can't alter it!" The Count had listened to the story with all his ears, but evidently, from his imperfect knowledge of the English language, without half understanding it. "Pauvre demoiselle! so she did a--a--a--what ye call dat, (making as if pitching headlong,) a--a--a--" "Tumble!" ejaculated Jobson. "_Oui, oui, oui_, toomball, toomball down de--down de _roches--roches_, pauvre demoiselle! did she se blesser?" "She went down the torrent, Count, in her canoe and was dashed to death!" exclaimed little Annie Mapes. "Oh, oh, pauvre demoiselle!" answered the Count, sorrowfully. "The lovaire did _courir_ from her--ah--ah--pauvre demoiselle!" "No, no, Count!" returned Annie impatiently, "her lover did not forsake her. She thought he was dead, and went in her canoe after his body!" "Pauvre demoiselle! and did she _trouver_ him?" "No. She was killed, and her lover had been detained in the chase, and he came afterwards and found her dead, as Mr. Paddock has just said!" "_Oui, oui, oui_, me understand, he try to run away and fall down--me understand--_oui, oui, oui_--me understand." "_No, no_, Count, you are all wrong; he starved himself to death from grief for her loss!" "_Oui, oui_, me understand; he try to run away--fall down--get no food in de _roches_--but he sing to keep courage up--_oui, oui_, me understand--bootiful story, bootiful story, Monsieur Paydook! vrai bootiful indeed! He lay there _long temps_--six, eight, ten day, you say! and den he sing, sing, sing, to keep courage up, for want of food! Bootiful story, bootiful story!" Finding it was in vain to enlighten the Count, Annie gave over her task, and the Count kept repeating, as if to himself: "_Oui, oui_, bootiful story, Monsieur Pay-dook, bootiful story! _bien_ bootiful story indeed! pauvre demoiselle! pauvre demoiselle! Joe--what you call it. She too good for Monsieur Took Ear. He run away--he fall down--he sing. She die to get rid of him. (Shrugging his shoulders and grimacing most laughably.) He run away--he fall down--he sing! pauvre demoiselle!" "I think he must have been crazy!" said Jobson, "not to eat when he could get a chance, and he hungry too, lying there a week or more; and only think, on the damp ground all this time. I wonder he didn't catch the rheumatism!"