Et quelle herbe! Et les fleurs donc! Seguin dans la montagne. C'est qu'elle n'avait peur de rien la Blanquette. Cela la fit rire aux larmes. Notre petite coureuse en robe blanche fit sensation.
Le clos de M. Elle tressaillit Seguin qui tentait un dernier effort. La trompe ne sonnait plus Elle se retourna et vit dans l'ombre deux oreilles courtes, toutes droites, avec deux yeux qui reluisaient Blanquette se sentit perdue Cela dura toute la nuit. Blanquette redoubla de coups de cornes, le loup de coups de dents L'histoire que tu as entendue n'est pas un conte de mon invention.
Source: Wikisource. Yet another one of his cherished goats was going to be devoured by the wolf. Seguin put the litle goat into a pen in the dark stable, and closed the door with two turns of the key. Unfortunately, he forgot the little window, through which the little goat squirmed through and escaped. You think this is funny? You know very well that you too are a goat, against good M. The little goat felt like she was walking into paradise once she got to the mountain.
Never had the old pines looked so beautiful. The forest gave her a royal welcome as well, with ancient chestnut trees stopping to caress her gently all along her procession into the woods. The yellow flowers joyously swayed in the wind to make a welcoming path as she marched into the sunny fields, in fact the whole mountain celebrated her arrival. Think about her joy, Grignoire!
No more prickly rope, nothing more to prevent her from running free! And what glorious herb it was! Delicious, fine, lacy and made from a thousand plants.
This was a far cry from the stumpy Hawthorn at the end of her rope at the farm. Bulbous blossoms with violet stems, all kinds, brimming with sweet nectar. She was giddy with happiness and leapt high in the air, among the scrub and the brush, one moment looking out from a glorious peak, the next lolling in a rocky canyon, here, there, everywhere! You might have said that M. Seguin had ten goats running through the mountains instead of one. Pretty Blanquette was afraid of nothing!
She leapt over torrential currents spraying clouds of watery mist. Completely soaked, she spread out on a sunny rock to dry. At a certain moment she saw through a break in the rocks, the farm of M. Seguin far down below, with a faint image of the dark circle of trampled sorry ground surrounding the post that once imprisoned her. Tears streamed down her delicate muzzle as she laughed with joy. High up on her perch, she thought she was bigger than the world.
In all, it was a grand day for our little Blanquette. In hopping from left to right, she ran across a herd of chamois deer chewing in a patch of wild vine, and made quite a sensation. She was given a place of honor among the vines to chew, and all of the males were gallant with her.
In fact, this will rest between us, Grignoire, but one of the chamois had the luck for a turn in the vine with our lovely Blanquette. Suddenly, a cold wind blew over the mountains. The vista turned a rosy purple — and then, it was night. Down below, the fields were drowned in heavy fog, and all she could see of M. She heard the bells of a troop returning to bed down for the night and felt a little sad in her heart. A swallow returning home made a flapping with his wings. She began to shiver.
Then there was a terrible howl echoing in the mountain! Blanquette wanted to return but she remembered that lonely post, the rope, the horrible darkness of the pen. Even though she was afraid she felt that it would be better to stay where she was.
The horn finally ceased. Suddenly she froze in fear as she heard footsteps behind her in the leaves. She made out in the darkness two straight ears, and two glittering eyes. Huge, still, crouching on his haunches, he watched the delicate little goat.
He could already taste his dinner. Knowing that he was going to eat her, he took his time, and just watched her. When she turned to see him he let out a horrible laugh.
She remembered the story of the poor old goat Renaude, who battled all night long just to be eaten in the morning, and she thought that perhaps it would be better after all to be eaten right away. Then she lowered her horns to protect herself, like the brave little kid she was. She could never hope to kill the wolf. But only to see if she could hold him off until dawn as ,a dear friend Renaude had done. Oh the poor little Blanquette, she fought with a clean and brave heart.La chèvre de Monsieur Seguin. La chèvre de Monsieur Seguin. Résumé de l'ouvrage. Résumé. M. Seguin n'avait jamais eu de chance avec ses chèvres. Il les perdait toutes de la même façon: un beau matin, elles cassaient leur corde, s'en allaient dans la montagne, et là-haut le loup les mangeait! Fiches pedagogiques. Fiche pédagogique.