Oh, what a terrible scourge is war!
Jeanneton, Jeanneton, come quickly, my shoes and hat."
"But, sir, you have not breakfasted."
"Oh, never mind breakfast."
"You know, sir, when you go out fasting you have such spasms----."
"My shoes, I tell you."
"And then you complain of your stomach."
"I shall have no want of a stomach again all my life. Never any
more--no, never--ruined."
"Ruined--Jesu--Maria! Is it possible? Ah! sir, run then,--run--."
Whilst the Cure dressed himself in haste, and, impatient to buckle the
strap, could scarcely put on his shoes, Moiselet, in a most lamentable
tone, told him what he had seen.
"Are you sure of it?" said the Cure, perhaps they did not take all."
"Ah, sir, God grant it, but I had not courage enough to look."
They went together towards the old barn, when they found that the
spoliation had been complete. Reflecting on the extent of his loss,
the Cure nearly fell to the ground. Moiselet was in a most pitiable
state; the dear man afflicted himself more than if the loss had been
his own. It was terrific to hear his sighs and groans. This was the
result of love to one's neighbour. M. Senard little thought how great
was the desolation at Livry. What was his despair on receiving the
news of the event! In Paris the police is the providence of people who
have lost any thing.
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