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Good Madame Chalumeau climbed down from her chair with a generous display of fat, black woollen legs and unpinned her skirt. "Bon! M. Bouillard sleeps the fat morning, but I can get in, and you will get a beating if you keep your excellent father waiting."
But as to marriage I cannot yet make up my mind. And in the meantime I must leave you, dear friend, for it is late. A thousand thanks for the delicious breakfast " and he was gone. The tragedy of M. Bouillard's indecision was very real to Madame Chalumeau, but it was also one to which the good woman was thoroughly accustomed.
Carefully dressed by his daughter, Madame Chalumeau, gloves on his ancient hands, a new top hat on his ancient head, his ancient brain was busily plotting and executing all kinds of small pranks, and his unfortunate old bride had nearly burst into tears at a strong nip he had given her arm with his still muscular fingers.
Madame Chalumeau, whose bright blue dress was very tight and warm, wiped her face on her handkerchief. Brigit looked round in despair. It was horrible; the heat, the smell of food, the clatter of knives and forks. For a long time she heard nothing, and then found that M. Thibaut the Mayor was trying to persuade Victor to play.
Madame Chalumeau, whose eyes were fixed on M. Bouillard as he sat far down one of the tables, dropped her knife to the ground, and disappearing under the table in search of it, gave her head a terrible thump, and emerged scarlet and agonised. "Someone ought to propose a toast!" suggested Théo, "I suppose M. Thibaut, father?" Victor nodded absently. "Yes, or M. le curé."
"Yes; some coloured tablecloths, very pretty, at one franc seventy-five and some other things. But, Désiré, you were saying about living alone that you thought Joséphine would be glad " "I did not say she would be glad, Madame Chalumeau. My wife was never glad about anything.
Hélas non, Madame Bathilde, I am but this moment awake what time is it?" Just inside the door of Madame Chalumeau's shop, Au Gout Parisien, hung a clock. "It is ten minutes to seven." "Eh, bien, au revoir, Madame Bathilde I must go and set things going in my small household. Alas, poor Joséphine!" Madame Chalumeau shook her head with great gravity.
The ellipses, the delays, the questions and the repetitions have to be lavish, if movement is desired, and all that in itself is very ugly. I am perhaps blinding myself, but I think that I am now writing something very quick and easy to play. We shall see. Adieu, dear master, embrace all yours for me. Your old good-for-nothing Cruchard, friend of Chalumeau.
The old man laughed shrilly, and producing an apple from his pocket began to eat it as best he could with his one tooth. "And where are your teeth?" cried the overwrought Madame Chalumeau. "You promised to wear them. Mother, why don't you scold him." "Because he likes being scolded, that's why," snapped the bride, jerking her bonnet over one ear. "He's been as bad as a devil all the morning."
"I think she would wish me to do the best I can for myself. And that, of course I mean to say I imagine " Poor Bathilde's hopes died suddenly. "She was always so generous-minded," she murmured, folding her plump hands. He rose and walked to the shop door. "Anything new to show me, chère Madame Chalumeau?" he asked briskly.
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