'Come, now!' cried Madame, raising her face, as if to sniff the air; 'we
are close to them. You will like them soon as I. You shall see five of
them. Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! Come cross quickily! I am Madame la
Morgue--Mrs. Deadhouse! I will present you my friends, Monsieur Cadavre and
Monsieur Squelette. Come, come, leetle mortal, let us play. Ouaah!' And
she uttered a horrid yell from her enormous mouth, and pushing her wig and
bonnet back, so as to show her great, bald head. She was laughing, and
really looked quite mad.
'No, Madame, I will not go with you,' I said, disengaging my hand with a
violent effort, receding two or three steps.
'Not enter the churchyard! Ma foi--wat mauvais goût! But see, we are
already in shade. The sun he is setting soon--where well you remain,
cheaile? I will not stay long.'
'I'll stay here,' I said, a little angrily--for I _was_ angry as well as
nervous; and through my fear was that indignation at her extravagances
which mimicked lunacy so unpleasantly, and were, I knew, designed to
frighten me.
Over the stepping-stones, pulling up her dress, she skipped with her long,
lank legs, like a witch joining a Walpurgis. Over the stile she strode, and
I saw her head wagging, and heard her sing some of her ill-omened rhymes,
as she capered solemnly, with many a grin and courtesy, among the graves
and headstones, towards the ruin.
CHAPTER VIII
_THE SMOKER_
Three years later I learned--in a way she probably little expected, and
then did not much care about--what really occurred there. I learned even
phrases and looks--for the story was related by one who had heard it
told--and therefore I venture to narrate what at the moment I neither saw
nor suspected. While I sat, flushed and nervous, upon a flat stone by the
bank of the little stream, Madame looked over her shoulder, and perceiving
that I was out of sight, she abated her pace, and turned sharply towards
the ruin which lay at her left. It was her first visit, and she was merely
exploring; but now, with a perfectly shrewd and businesslike air, turning
the corner of the building, she saw, seated upon the edge of a grave-stone,
a rather fat and flashily-equipped young man, with large, light whiskers, a
jerry hat, green cutaway coat with gilt buttons, and waistcoat and trousers
rather striking than elegant in pattern. He was smoking a short pipe, and
made a nod to Madame, without either removing it from his lips or rising,
but with his brown and rather good-looking face turned up, he eyed her with
something of the impudent and sulky expression that was habitual to it.
'Ha, Deedle, you are there! an' look so well. I am here, too, quite _a_lon;
but my friend, she wait outside the churchyard, by-side the leetle river,
for she must not think I know you--so I am come _a_lon.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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