So he swung round his cane
of heavy snakewood at the cow, and struck her poor horns so sharply that
her head went round.
"Is that universal peace, and gentleness, and justice?" cried Dolly,
springing up and hastening to console her cow. "Is this the way the
lofty French redress the wrongs of England? What had poor Dewlips done,
I should like to know? Kiss me, my pretty, and tell me how you would
like the French army to land, as a matter of form? The form you would
take would be beef, I'm afraid; not even good roast beef, but bouillon,
potage, fricandeau, friture--anything one cannot taste any meat in; and
that is how your wrongs would be redressed, after having had both your
horns knocked off. And about the same fate for John Bull, your master,
unless he keeps his horns well sharpened. Do I not speak the truth,
monsieur?"
When Carne did anything to vex Miss Dolly--which happened pretty often,
for he could not stop to study much her little prejudices--she addressed
him as if he were a Frenchman, never doubting that this must reduce him
sadly in his self-esteem.
"Never mind matters political," he said, perceiving that his power must
not be pressed until he had deepened its foundations; "what are all the
politics in the world compared with your good opinion, Beauty?" Dolly
liked to be called "Beauty," and the name always made her try to deserve
it by looking sweet. "You must be quite certain that I would do nothing
to injure a country which contains my Dolly.
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