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"Langlois, too, mentions a glass-worker of the thirteenth century, Clément of Chartres, whose signature he found on a window of the Cathedral at Rouen Clement Vitrearius Carnutensis; but it is a wide leap to infer, as some would do, that merely because this Clément was a native of Chartres, he must have painted one or more of the glass pictures in Notre Dame here.
On this he camped until morning. When dawn came he began following it. He passed half a dozen of Langlois' trap-houses. In none of them was there bait. In three the traps were sprung. In the seventh he found the remains of a red fox that had been eaten until there was little but the bones left. Two houses beyond there was an ermine in a trap, with its head eaten off.
"Oh, it isn't worth while," answered Lheureux. He came back the following week and boasted of having, after much trouble, at last discovered a certain Langlois, who, for a long time, had had an eye on the property, but without mentioning his price. "Never mind the price!" she cried. But they would, on the contrary, have to wait, to sound the fellow.
Even Michael seemed placated, and after I nodded my head in token of assent the landlord related to us this story: Once upon a time, sirs, when the great and good Louis, sixteenth of his name, was King of France, this domain was the property of the Duke of Langlois. The duke was proud and rich, and prouder and haughtier was his duchess, who was born Berri.
She and Virginie Poucette had a place together on the market none better than Mere Langlois except Virginie Poucette, and she was like a drink of water in the desert. . . . Well, there, I will begin. Now my father was " It was lucky there were no calls for the Young Doctor that particular early morning, else the course of Jean Jacques' life might have been greatly different from what it became.
Partly owing to his exertions, a French company called "The Nanto-Bordelaise Company" was incorporated, the object of which was to found a French colony on the shores of the charming harbour of Akaroa, on the land said to have been purchased by Langlois. In this company Louis Philippe was a shareholder.
He was going away by the train which left a new railway junction a few miles off, having gently yet firmly declined M. Fille's invitation, and also the invitations of others including the Cure and Mere Langlois to spend the night with them and start off the next day. He elected to go on to Montreal that very night, and before the sale was quite finished he prepared to start.
At 4 P.M. that day M. Langlois had wished to pour some bromine into a bottle. He had done this clumsily, so that some of the bromine flowed on to his left hand, which held the funnel, and at once burnt him severely.
I will settle with Him myself. Well, then, do you think I'd care what what Mere Langlois or the rest of the world would say? . . . I can't bear to think of you going away with nothing, with nobody, when here is something and somebody somebody who would be good to you. Everybody knows that you've been badly used everybody.
"This I regard as the historian's highest function," writes Tacitus, "to let no worthy action be uncommemorated, and to hold out the reprobation of posterity as a terror to evil words and deeds;" while Langlois and the majority of the scholars of Oxford are of the opinion that the formation and expression of ethical judgments, the approval or condemnation of Julius Cæsar or of Cæsar Borgia is not a thing within the historian's province.
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