The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



empty, as usual. I went to the beggar-woman and 

 whispered in her ear: 



" Do you know who gave you that? It's the 

 Emperor's minister." 



The poor woman started ; and her astounded eyes 

 wandered from the open-handed swell to the piece 

 of silver and from the piece of silver to the open- 

 handed swell. What a surprise! What a wind- 

 fall! 



" Que lou bou Dieu ie done longo vido e santa, 

 pecdire! " she said in her cracked voice. 



And, curtseying and nodding, she withdrew, still 

 staring at the coin in the palm of her hand. 

 " What did she say ? " asked Duruy. 

 " She wished you long life and health." 

 " And pecdire? " 



" Pecdire is a poem in itself : it sums up all the 

 gentler passions." 



And I myself mentally repeated the artless vow. 

 The man who stops so kindly when a beggar puts 

 out her hand has something better in his soul than 

 the mere qualities that go to make a minister. 



We entered the station, still alone, as promised, 

 and I quite without misgivings. Had I but fore- 

 seen what was going to happen, how I should have 

 hastened to take my leave! Little by little a group 

 formed in front of us. It was too late to fly: I 

 had to screw up my courage. Came the general 

 of division and his officers, came the prefect and 

 his secretary, the mayor and his deputy, the school- 

 inspector and the pick of the staff. The minister 

 faced the ceremonial semicircle. I stood next to 

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