On one side the Second-of-December puffs out its cheeks, magnifies its voice, draws its long sabre and exclaims: "Sacre-bleu, grumblers!
"Napoleon the Little"
Victor Hugo
Not so the Frenchman; his rage scarcely knew bounds-he danced in a state of most ludicrous excitement, he shook his fist at our rough captain, and screamed at the top of his voice- "Sacre, you bete!
"Roughing it in the Bush"
Susanna Moodie
And you have seen him here on this Sacre sea-coast?"
"The Claverings"
Anthony Trollope