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Isidore’s tale was after this fashion:

“I ver’ well remember the first of it; and the last of it–who can tell? He was an actor–oh, so droll, that! Tall, ver’ smart, and he play in theatre at Montreal. It is in the winter. P’tite Louison visit Montreal. She walk past the theatre and, as she go by, she slip on the snow and fall. Out from a door with a jomp come M’sieu’ Hadrian, and pick her up. And when he see the purty face of P’tite Louison, his eyes go all fire, and he clasp her hand to his breast.

“‘Ma’m’selle, Ma’m’selle,’ he say, ‘we must meet again!’

“She thank him and hurry away queeck. Next day we are on the river, and P’tite Louison try to do the Dance of the Blue Fox on the ice. While she do it, some one come up swift, and catch her hand and say: ‘Ma’m’selle, let’s do it together’–like that! It take her breath away. It is M’sieu’ Hadrian. He not seem like the other men she know; but he have a sharp look, he is smooth in the face, and he smile kind like a woman. P’tite Louison, she give him her hand, and they run away, and every one stop to look. It is a gran’ sight. M’sieu’ Hadrian laugh, and his teeth shine, and the ladies say things of him, and he tell P’tite Louison that she look ver’ fine, and walk like a queen. I am there that day, and I see all, and I think it dam good. I say: ‘That P’tite Louison, she beat them all’–I am only twelve year old then. When M’sieu’ Hadrian leave, he give her two seats for the theatre, and we go. Bagosh! that is grand thing that play, and M’sieu’ Hadrian, he is a prince; and when he say to his minister, ‘But no, my lord, I will marry out of my star, and where my heart go, not as the State wills,’ he look down at P’tite Louison, and she go all red, and some of the women look at her, and there is a whisper all roun’.

“Nex’ day he come to the house where we stay, but the Cure come also pretty soon and tell her she must go home–he say an actor is not good company. Never mind. And so we come out home. Well, what you think? Nex’ day M’sieu’ Hadrian come, too, and we have dam good time–Florian, Octave, Felix, Emile, they all sit and say bully-good to him all the time. Holy, what fine stories he tell! And he talk about P’tite Louison, and his eyes get wet, and Emile he say his prayers to him–bagosh! yes, I think. Well, at last, what you guess? M’sieu’ he come and come, and at last one day, he say that he leave Montreal and go to New York, where he get a good place in a big theatre–his time in Montreal is finish. So he speak to Florian and say he want marry P’tite Louison, and he say, of course, that he is not marry and he have money. But he is a Protestan’, and the Cure at first ver’ mad, bagosh!

“But at las’ when he give a hunder’ dollars to the Church, the Cure say yes. All happy that way for while. P’tite Louison, she get ready quick-sapre, what fine things had she–and it is all to be done in a week, while the theatre in New York wait for M’sieu’. He sit there with us, and play on the fiddle, and sing songs, and act plays, and help Florian in the barn, and Octave to mend the fence, and the Cure to fix the grape-vines on his wall. He show me and Emile how to play sword-sticks; and he pick flowers and fetch them to P’tite Louison, and teach her how to make an omelette and a salad like the chef of the Louis Quinze Hotel, so he say. Bagosh, what a good time we have! But first one, then another, he get a choke-throat when he think that P’tite Louison go to leave us, and the more we try, the more we are bagosh fools. And that P’tite Louison, she kiss us hevery one, and say to M’sieu’ Hadrian, ‘Charles, I love you, but I cannot go.’ He laugh at her, and say, ‘Voila! we will take them all with us:’ and P’tite Louison she laugh. That night a thing happen. The Cure come, and he look ver’ mad, and he frown and he say to M’sieu’ Hadrian before us all, ‘M’sieu’, you are married.’