You don't
half know Angelique."
"I mean she shall pull the chestnuts out of the fire for me with her
pretty fingers, until she burn them," remarked Bigot, gruffly.
"I would not trust her too far! In all seriousness, you have but
the choice of two things, Bigot: marry her or send her to the
Convent."
"I would not do the one, and I could not do the other, Cadet," was
Bigot's prompt reply to this suggestion.
"Tut! Mere Migeon de la Nativite will respect your lettre de
cachet, and provide a close, comfortable cell for this pretty
penitent in the Ursulines," said Cadet.
"Not she! Mere Migeon gave me one of her parlor-lectures once, and
I care not for another. Egad, Cadet! she made me the nearest of
being ashamed of Francois Bigot of any one I ever listened to!
Could you have seen her, with her veil thrown back, her pale face
still paler with indignation, her black eyes looking still blacker
beneath the white fillet upon her forehead, and then her tongue,
Cadet! Well, I withdrew my proposal and felt myself rather
cheapened in the presence of Mere Migeon.
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