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You know Tullia, don't you? a danseuse at the opera; my brother was always dinning her into my ears at one time." "Yes, I know her; but she is no longer a danseuse; she is Madame la Comtesse du Bruel. Her husband is peer of France!" "Does she still like you?" "We never see each other now." "Well, I know that Chaffaroux, the rich contractor, is her uncle," said Brigitte. "He is old and wealthy.
"'My dear fellow, du Bruel would say, laying down the law to us on the boulevard, 'there is nothing like one of these women who have sown their wild oats and got over their passions.
No one among the very ordinary persons who made the society of the two widows neither old Du Bruel nor old Claparon, nor Desroches the father, nor even the Abbe Loraux, Agathe's confessor noticed Joseph's faculty for observation. Absorbed in the line of his own tastes, the future colorist paid no attention to anything that concerned himself.
"Do leave him his independence," Coralie exclaimed angrily; "he will write what he pleases. Papa Camusot, buy carriages for me instead of praises." "You shall have them on very easy terms," Lucien answered politely. "I have never written for newspapers before, so I am not accustomed to their ways, my maiden pen is at your disposal " "That is funny," said du Bruel.
"Oh, Florine and Matifat the druggist," said Lousteau, "and du Bruel, the author who gave Florine the part in which she is to make her first appearance, a little old fogy named Cardot, and his son-in-law Camusot, and Finot, and " "Does your druggist do things properly?" "He will not give us doctored wine," said Lucien. "You are very witty, monsieur," Blondet returned gravely.
His articles were equal to books, he said. The profits of theatrical work then allured him; but, incapable of the slow and steady application required for stage arrangement, he was forced to associate with himself a vaudevillist, du Bruel, who took his ideas, worked them over, and reduced them into those productive little pieces, full of wit, which are written expressly for actors and actresses.
Alas! when, at half-past two o'clock, Oscar entered the salon of the Rocher de Cancale, where were three invited persons besides the clerks, to wit: an old captain of dragoons, named Giroudeau; Finot, a journalist who might procure an engagement for Florentine at the Opera, and du Bruel, an author, the friend of Tullia, one of Mariette's rivals, the second clerk felt his secret hostility vanish at the first handshaking, the first dashes of conversation as they sat around a table luxuriously served.
What machinery do they set in motion? But, however comical such domestic dramas may be, we are not now concerned with them. Du Bruel was secretly married; the thing was done. "Cursy before his marriage was supposed to be a jolly companion; now and again he stayed out all night, and to some extent led the life of a Bohemian; he would unbend at a supper-party.
"True! when one refuses to pay one's debts, that's recognizing them." Thuillier. "You would make famous lawyers." Poiret. "I am as curious as Monsieur Phellion to know what grounds Monsieur Bixiou has for " Will you bet?" I do beg you to be quiet; you can laugh and bet afterwards." Bixiou. "That's true, du Bruel; the praise of an honest man is a very difficult thing to write.
Yes, you'll see, that appointment will slip up, just like the invasion from Boulogne, and the march to Russia, for the success of which a great genius has gathered together all the chances. It will fail as all good and just things do fail in this low world. I am only backing the devil's game." Du Bruel. "Who do you think will be appointed?" Bixiou.
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