_Widow_. Ah, was he not a man! and yet so sweet,
So courteous, and so gentle.

_Babette_. _Ah, oui, madame_.
So kind! not one rough word he ever had,
The _General_, but bow so low, "_Merci, Babette_,"
For glass of milk, _et petit chose comme ca_.
Ah, long ago it must be he was French:
Some _grand seigneur, sans doute_, in Guernsey then.
Ah the brave man, madame, _ce hero la!_

_Widow_. Yes, brave indeed, Babette, but English, English.
Oh, bravery, good girl, is born of noble hearts,
And calls the world its country, and its sex
Humanity.

_Babette_. Madame?

_Widow_. You do not understand me, not; but you
Were very brave and noble-hearted when
You faced the wolf that scented the young lambs.

_Babette_. _Brave! moi!_ Madame is kind to say it so.
But bravery of women--what is that
To bravery of man?

_Tom_. An' that's just what I said to Hatty, mother,
When she declared that Aunty Laura was
As brave as soldiers, 'cause she went an' fetched