Sealed Lips — page 176: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

168 SEALED LIPS. feet by fifty, well built, and resembling cavalry quarters. “Monsieur O’Farrell?” asked a French soldier, in his concise tones, advancing before him, having yut on for the. occasion, over his best vest, his Italian medal and his cross. “Yes,” replied the young man, as he jumped to the ground. “And you, doubtless, are the over- seer, Lafon?” “Formerly sub-officer of the Algerian troops, yes, monsieur,” responded this person as he made the regular salute. “Here is my wife, who comes to pay her respects.” The couple were not at all alike. The husband, before whom Patrice, in spite of his tall stature, seemed of ordinary height, was thin, bony, and singularly agile, notwithstanding his fifty years; his face was furrowed and scarred, making one think of Don Quixote. Madame Lafon was small and round as a ball, with a plump, red face that shone like a tomato, she could pass for a Sancho Panza in petticoats. She made her courtesy to the traveler at the same time tugging away at the nar- row sleeves of her dress to pull them down over her large arms. Then turning toward a little servant- girl, who looked like a wild gazelle, and had tim- idly ventured to take a peep at the new-comer: “Djemoul! I see you!” exclaimed she, in a voice that made the child flee, and an imperceptible Gomiuclh O}( 0) KS (Cl QO) im