LOUISIANA STATES HER WANTS "'Sieur Frowenfel'," said Raoul as that person turned in the front door of the shop after watching Agricola's carriage roll away--he had intended to unburden his mind to the apothecary with all his natural impetuosity; but Frowenfeld's gravity as he turned, with the paper in his hand, induced a different manner.

Raoul had learned, despite all the impulses of his nature, to look upon Frowenfeld with a sort of enthusiastic awe.

He dropped his voice and said--asking like a child a question he was perfectly able to answer-- "What de matta wid Agricole ?" Frowenfeld, for the moment well-nigh oblivious of his own trouble, turned upon his assistant a look in which elation was oddly blended with solemnity, and replied as he walked by: "Rush of truth to the heart." Raoul followed a step.
"'Sieur Frowenfel'-- " The apothecary turned once more.

Raoul's face bore an expression of earnest practicability that invited confidence.
"'Sieur Frowenfel', Agricola writ'n' to Sylvestre to stop dat dool ?" "Yes." "You goin' take dat lett' to Sylvestre ?" "Yes." "'Sieur Frowenfel', dat de wrong g-way.

You got to take it to 'Polyte Brahmin-Mandarin, an' 'e got to take it to Valentine Grandissime, an' '_e_ got to take it to Sylvestre.