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As the whole party echoed the demand, Moëssard took back his proof and began to read aloud the WORK OF BETHLEHEM AND M. BERNARD JANSOULET, a long deliverance in favor of artificial nursing, written from Jenkins' notes, which were recognizable by certain grandiloquent phrases of the sort that the Irishman affected: "the long martyrology of infancy the venality of the breast the goat, the beneficent nurse," and concluding, after a turgid description of the magnificent establishment at Nanterre, with a eulogy of Jenkins and the glorification of Jansoulet: "O Bernard Jansoulet, benefactor of infancy!"
"There you are." He passed it over to Jansoulet; but Jenkins besought him: "No, no; read it aloud." The company having echoed the request in chorus, Moessard took back his proof and commenced to read in a loud voice, "The Bethlehem Society and Mr.
At that the old woman made a jagged hole through the group and exclaimed, taking her stand in front of Moëssard: "What he didn't tell you I will tell you. I am his mother, and it's my duty to speak." She interrupted herself to seize Le Merquier's sleeve as he was slinking away. "You, above all, you bad man, you are going to listen to me. What have you against my child? Don't you know who he is?
With that everybody was content and we said to each other: "It's coming along, it's coming along," as if it were a matter in the ordinary course of business. No, upon my word, Paris is the only place in the world where such things can be seen. It positively makes one's head spin sometimes. The upshot of it was that, one fine morning, Moëssard stopped coming to the office.
Wait a moment and let me tell you." She turned to the journalist: "I had two sons, Monsieur " Moëssard was no longer there. She returned to Le Merquier: "Two sons, Monsieur " Le Merquier had disappeared.
Hardly had Moessard set foot to the ground, and before he could take refuge on the pavement, whither the black military caps of policemen could be seen hastening, Jansoulet threw himself upon him, lifted him by the back of the neck like a rabbit, and, careless of his protestations and his terrified stammerings: "Yes, yes, I will give you satisfaction, you blackguard!
"That is my last word." "Very well, we will see," said Beau Moëssard, while his cane cleft the air with a noise like a snake's hiss; and, turning on his heel, he strode rapidly away like a man who has very important business awaiting him. Jansoulet continued his triumphal march.
The handsome Moessard murmured it like a refrain beneath his little fair mustache, while his queen in the stage-box translated it into the barbarism of her foreign tongue. Positively they found it restful. They did not say after what after what heart-breaking labour, after what forced, idle and useless task.
It was the third attack of the kind which the Messenger had published in the course of the last week, and that rogue of a Moessard had the spite to send the number each time done up in a packet to the Place Vendome.
He might have said to Dea, as in our day Moessard said to Vissot, Tu manques de respect au repertoire. "The Laughing Man." Such was the form of Gwynplaine's fame. His name, Gwynplaine, little known at any time, had disappeared under his nickname, as his face had disappeared under its grin. His popularity was like his visage a mask.
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