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Now, on the morning of the very day when Madame de Saint-Esteve had prophesied success to Victorin, Carabine had said to du Tillet at about seven o'clock: "If you want to be very nice, you will give me a dinner at the Rocher de Cancale and bring Combabus. We want to know, once for all, whether he has a mistress. I bet that he has, and I should like to win."
Carabine placed Combabus on her left, and the Duc d'Herouville on her right. Cydalise was next to the Brazilian, and beyond her was Bixiou. Malaga sat by the Duke. Oysters appeared at seven o'clock; at eight they were drinking iced punch. Every one is familiar with the bill of fare of such a banquet.
To pass his time he played whist at the Jockey-Club. The world was reduced to calumny, or, which it thought funnier, to laughing at his peculiarities; he went by the name of Combabus.
Massol, as being on the Council of State, and Claude Vignon, erewhile Professor of Greek, had related to the ignorant damsels the famous anecdote, preserved in Rollin's Ancient History, concerning Combabus, that voluntary Abelard who was placed in charge of the wife of a King of Assyria, Persia, Bactria, Mesopotamia, and other geographical divisions peculiar to old Professor du Bocage, who continued the work of d'Anville, the creator of the East of antiquity.
I have heard him talked about, and know his name. You are nicknamed Combabus, because you love but one woman, and in Paris, that is the same as loving no one at all. And is it by chance the object of your affections who is fretting you? Madame Marneffe, Crevel's woman? I tell you what, my dear sir, you may bless your stars instead of cursing them.
To pass his time he played whist at the Jockey-Club. The world was reduced to calumny, or, which it thought funnier, to laughing at his peculiarities; he went by the name of Combabus.
See post, July 17, 1779, where he put Johnson's friendship to the test by neglecting to write to him. No doubt Dr. Barnard, Dean of Derry, afterwards Bishop of Killaloe. See ante, p. 84. The reverse of the story of Combabus, on which Mr. David Hume told Lord Macartney, that a friend of his had written a tragedy. It is, however, possible that I may have been inaccurate in my perception of what Dr.
"What are you going to do with her?" "Well Madame Combabus!" "And what are you to get for such a job?" "Guess." "A service of plate?" "I have three." "Diamonds?" "I am selling them." "A green monkey?" "No. A picture by Raphael." "What maggot is that in your brain?" "Josepha makes me sick with her pictures," said Carabine. "I want some better than hers."
He was welcomed by an old couple, Marcus Combabus and Valeria Moerens, who lived there on the products of their lands. There was a portico round the interior court the columns of which were painted red, half their height upwards from the base.
"What are you going to do with her?" "Well Madame Combabus!" "And what are you to get for such a job?" "Guess." "A service of plate?" "I have three." "Diamonds?" "I am selling them." "A green monkey?" "No. A picture by Raphael." "What maggot is that in your brain?" "Josepha makes me sick with her pictures," said Carabine. "I want some better than hers."
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