My uncle released his right leg, and my jest was cut off.

Nobody ever inspired a more dim, religious awe than the Abbe Montreuil.

The priest entered with a smile.

My mother hailed the entrance of an ally.
"Father," said she, rising, "I have just represented to my good brother the necessity of sending my sons to school; he has proposed an alternative which I will leave you to discuss with him." "And what is it ?" said Montreuil, sliding into a chair, and patting Gerald's head with a benignant air.
"To educate them himself," answered my mother, with a sort of satirical gravity.

My uncle moved uneasily in his seat, as if, for the first time, he saw something ridiculous in the proposal.
The smile, immediately fading from the thin lips of the priest, gave way to an expression of respectful approbation.