I would say, 'A bi'tot-good-bye.'...

Slowlee--slowlee! We are at de place.

Bear wif de land, ma'm'selle! Steadee! As you go! V'la! hitch now, Maitre Ranulph." The keel of the boat grated on the shingle.
The air of the morning, the sport of using the elements for one's pleasure, had given Guida an elfish sprightliness of spirits.

Twenty times during Jean's recital she had laughed gaily, and never sat a laugh better on any one's countenance than on hers.

Her teeth were strong, white, and regular; in themselves they gave off a sort of shining mirth.
At first the lugubrious wife of the happy Jean was inclined to resent Guida's gaiety as unseemly, for Jean's story sounded to her as serious statement of fact; which incapacity for humour probably accounted for Jean's occasional lapses from domestic grace.