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"Well, proceed then," said Chabert. "I put myself entirely in your hands." "I will send you a power of attorney to sign," said Derville. "Good-bye. Keep up your courage. If you want money, rely on me." Chabert warmly wrung the lawyer's hand, and remained standing with his back against the wall, not having the energy to follow him excepting with his eyes.
In resuming the habits of wealth he had recovered his soldierly style. He held himself up; his face, grave and mysterious-looking, reflected his happiness and all his hopes, and seemed to have acquired youth and impasto, to borrow a picturesque word from the painter's art. He was no more like the Chabert of the old box-coat than a cartwheel double sou is like a newly coined forty-franc piece.
"I have drawn up the memorandum of an agreement of which you and M. Chabert can discuss the conditions, here, and now. I will go alternately to him and to you, and explain your views respectively." "Let me see, monsieur," said the Countess impatiently.
When Derville asked them if M. Chabert lived there, neither of them replied, but all three looked at him with a sort of bright stupidity, if I may combine those two words. Derville repeated his questions, but without success.
M. Chabert was a son of Joseph and Therese Julienne Chabert. He was born on May 10th, 1792, at Avignon, France. Chabert was a soldier in the Napoleonic wars, was exiled to Siberia and escaped to England. His grandson has a bronze Napoleon medal which was presented to Chabert, presumably for valor on the field of battle. Napoleon was exiled in 1815 and again three years later.
It appears that a considerable vapor and smell rose from parts of his body when the fire and heated substances were applied, and in this he seems to differ from the person now in this country." The person here referred to was M. Chabert. Dr. Sementeni became so interested in the subject that he made a series of experiments upon himself, and these were finally crowned with success.
"A pretty hole!" exclaimed Philippe, looking round the room. "In the name of thunder! what are you doing here, you who charged with poor Colonel Chabert at Eylau? You a gallant officer!" "Well, yes! broum! broum! a gallant officer keeping the accounts of a little newspaper," said Giroudeau, settling his black silk skull-cap.
"You lawyers sometimes are very clear-headed, though you are accused of false practices in pleading for one side or the other." Colonel Chabert, whose address was written at the bottom of the first receipt he had given the notary, was lodging in the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, Rue du Petit-Banquier, with an old quartermaster of the Imperial Guard, now a cowkeeper, named Vergniaud.
Rose Chapotel, wife and widow of Hyacinthe, called Chabert, Count of the Empire, grand officer of the Legion of Honor. They had married without settlement; thus, they held all the property in common. To the best of my recollections, the personalty was about six hundred thousand francs.
The Exotic Prince had, however, made the conquest of the charming daughter of a wealthy Austrian Count, and had cut out an excellent young officer who was wooing her; and he, in his despair began to make love to Frau von Chabert, and at last told her he loved her, but she only laughed at him. "You are very cruel," he stammered in confusion. "I? What are you thinking about?"
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