The Skyland post. [volume] (West Jefferson, N.C.) 193?-1988, 1944-08-03
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sad, something had gone from his
eyes = something that had given
them a hunted look.
'Why is it, I say, that woman
is much more bother than MANI"
Joan repeated.
1T is thees, Madame" And
then Monsieur began rather la
boriously to explain. A woman
was so complicated, compliquee-I
Monsieur made expressive ges-
lures with his beautifully kept
hands. "But if I may say so," he
concluded, gazing with his melan-
choly brown eyes and folding his
hands in his lap, II should say
that even the most compliquees
of all les femmes plus COM
pliquess must be content with the
beauty and comfort that she will
find here"
"Oh, Monsieur, how nice of
you" An idea was fermenting in
Joan's brain. ''Look here" she
said excitedly, ''let you and me
celebrate our last day of freedom
by having a little jaunt. should
love to take you to have tea with
a great friend of mine, a Meta
jackson S she writes novels. Do
say you'd like it, and I'll ring her
up and ask her if we may come
to tea this afternoon
'MAIS :" And then all that
was courteous in Monsieur came
to his rescue. A tea party, what
more detestable than this func-
ton greatly beloved of the Eng
lish.
you'd hate it," said Joan,
watching Monsieur's expressive
face.
eau contraire," said Monsieur
gallantly. And so it was arranged.
Meta was delighted.
care you sure?"
Positive" said Meta, wonder
ing why she was so exhilarated.
Monsieur, treading carefully
about his bedroom, wondered
what he should wear. All was in
order; it was only to choose which
suit. Oh, lala! Monsieur had then
tcaught sight of a pair of walking
shoes neatly fitted on trees. But
the laces =. he bent to examine
them. Impossible! He must get
new ones, but where? He would
ask the estimable Grace; he could
hear her outside in the corridor.
eyes, monseer," Grace replied
very loudly indeed, so that the
French gentleman should under
stand better. ''You 60 up the hill
and it's the first shop on the left.
He sells bootlaces and does re-
pairs too"
'Merci: thank you," said Mon
sieur with his sad smile. Putting
on his coat and hat, he walked
downstairs.
"Going out?" Joan, in overalls,
was busting the hall.
"Oui, Madame" When Mon
sieur explained why, Joan was
interested.
Because there's a mystery
about that shoemaker" she ex-
lplained. mo one knows who he
is or where he came from. Some
body said he was a prisoner in
Germany in the last war and they
taught him to mend shoes, and
he's done it ever since. He was
wounded in the foot, I believe,
and nearly had to have it taken
off because the Germans didn't
attend to it properly. Anyhow,
he limps."
"Vraiment. I will then see the
good man and report on what I
find. May I execute any commits
sionEfor you, Madame?" said Mon
sieur, his hat still in his hand. |
mo thank YOU" Monsieur set
tied his hat neatly on his head
and went out, leaving Joan to
wonder what made French people
so different from English. There
was leisured courtesy in their
manner, as if social intercourse
was thing to be studied and
brought to perfection.
i The cobbler's shop was very
dark and the sight of him gave
Monsieur a shock. He had seen !,
him before, somewhere. But
where? There was someone else
in the shop, so he had time to
/ think.
'What can I do for you, sir?"
The cobbler was now free to at
tend to his new customer. He
limped forward from the back of
the shop.
''Have you shoelaces?"
Il