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The next day we were installed in our two little rooms over the workshop at Father Goulden's, Catherine and I. Many years have rolled away since then! Mr. Goulden, Aunt Grédel, and the old comrades have all passed away, and Catherine's hair is as white as snow!

I recognized Monsieur Goulden's handwriting, and turned pale. "Well," said Zimmer, laughing, "it is come at last." I did not answer, but thrust the letter in my pocket, to read it at leisure and alone. I went to the end of the garden and opened it. Two or three apple-blossoms dropped upon the ground, with an order for money, on which Monsieur Goulden had written a few words.

Then I dressed myself, thinking that I looked like a dead man, for the vinegar was very strong; but when I entered Monsieur Goulden's room, he cried out: "Joseph, what is the matter with you? You are as red as a cock's comb." And, looking at myself in the mirror, I saw that my face was red to my ears, and to the tip of my nose.

Goulden's large means and credit, he could carry his operation through successfully. Mr. Goulden warily listened to the scheme, warily weighed it, and concluded within the brief compass of Mr. Allen's explanation to have nothing to do with it. But his outward manner was all deference and courteous attention. At the end of Mr.

Instead of turning aside to take the bridge, we forded it where we were. The water reached our waists; and I thought, as I pulled my shoes out of the mud, "If any one had told me this in the days when I was afraid of catching a cold in the head at M. Goulden's, and when I changed my stockings twice a week, I should never have believed it. Well, strange things happen to one in this life."

Great drops of sweat rolled down my forehead; Catharine was white as marble, and so we went back to Monsieur Goulden's. "What number did you draw, Joseph?" he asked, as soon as he saw us. "Seventeen," replied Aunt Grédel, sitting down with her hands upon her knees. Monsieur Goulden seemed troubled for a moment, but he said instantly: "One is as good as another.

When I arose in the morning, about seven, I went to Monsieur Goulden's room to begin work, but he was still in bed, looking weary and sick. "Joseph," said he, "I am not well. This horrible news has made me ill, and I have not slept at all." "Shall I not make you some tea?" I asked. "No, my child, that is not worth while. I will get up by and by.

I would rather be in Switzerland than in Leipzig." Each day now brought news of Napoleon's advance, from Grenoble to Lyons, from Lyons to Macon and Auxerre. There was no opposition anywhere to his progress, and the only question that troubled M. Goulden's mind was the attitude of Ney to the emperor.

After putting more wood in the stove, I took the cloak and mittens, drew Monsieur Goulden's bed-curtains, and went out, the bunch of keys in my pocket. The illness of Father Melchior grieved me very much for a while, but a thought came to console me, and I said to myself: "You can climb up the city clock-tower, and see the house of Catharine and Aunt Grédel."

I felt happy too, and thought, "That is what we must do, Aunt Grédel is right." But on looking at Father Goulden, I saw he was very grave, and that he had turned away and was looking at a watch through his glass, and knitting his big white eyebrows. So, knowing he was not pleased, I said: "I think myself, that would succeed, but before we do anything I would like to have Father Goulden's opinion."