Monsieur The Cure down the street
Comes with his kind old face,--
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair,
And his green umbrella-case.
You may see him pass by the little "_Grande Place_,"
And the tiny "_Hotel-de-Ville_";
He smiles as he goes, to the _fleuriste_ Rose,
And the _pompier_ Theophile.
He turns as a rule through the "_Marche_" cool,
Where the noisy fishwives call;
And his compliment pays to the "_belle Therese_,"
As she knits in her dusky stall.
There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop,
And Toto, the locksmith's niece,
Has jubilant hopes, for the Cure gropes
In his tails for a _pain d'epice_.
There's a little dispute with a merchant of fruit
Who is said to be heterodox,
That will ended be with a "_Ma foi, oui!_"
And a pinch from the Cure's box.
There is also a word that no one heard
To the furrier's daughter Lou;
And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red,
And a "_Bon Dieu garde M'sieu!_"
But a grander way for the _Sous-Prefet_,
And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne;
And a mock "off-hat" to the Notary's cat,
And a nod to the Sacristan:--
For ever through life the Cure goes
With a smile on his kind old face--
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair.
And his green umbrella-case.
"GOOD-NIGHT, BABETTE"
"Si vieillesse pouvait!"
SCENE.--_A small neat room. In a high Voltaire chair sits a
white-haired old gentleman._