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I am very glad to see you." Then, after listening a moment: "Why, what is that noise?" he asked. Garneret told him it was Mont Valérien firing on the fortifications. The Commune was in full swing. "Vive la Commune!" cried Jean Servien, and he dropped his head back on the pillow with a smile. He was recovered and, with a book in his hand, was talking a quiet walk in the Luxembourg gardens.
Dating from that night Jean Servien spent his days in translating Myrrha bit by bit, with an infinity of pains. The task having taught him something of verse-making, he composed an ode, which he sent by post to his mistress. The poem was writ in tears of blood, yet it was as cold and insipid as a schoolboy's exercise.
Monsieur Bargemont with the candle leant over Jean Servien, who, opening his eyes for the second time, saw the man's coarse red cheek within an inch of the actress's delicate ear. He gave a great cry and a convulsive spasm shook his body. "Perhaps it is an epileptic fit," said Monsieur Bargemont, coughing; he was catching cold standing on the staircase.
Garneret only buried his face between his hands. It was above his comprehension. "But come," he said, "the woman is no differently constituted from other women!" Obvious as it was, this consideration filled Jean Servien with amazement. It shocked him so much that, rather than admit its truth, he racked his brains in desperation to find arguments to controvert the blasphemy.
Indeed, the Abbé Servien spread it about again when Ninon was seventy years of age, and even then there were few who disputed the mysterious gift as Ninon showed little change. As old age approached, Ninon ceased to be regarded with that familiarity shown her by her intimates in her younger days, and a respect and admiration took its place.
This artifice of Servien united the Prince to the Cardinal, because he found himself obliged to defend himself against the Frondeurs, who, as he believed, sought to assassinate him.
Then pointing a finger to show he was addressing Jane: "At any rate, you write a good hand?" Monsieur Servien answered for his son, saying it was legible. "Legible! Legible!" repeated the great man throwing his fat hands about. "A copying clerk must write an even hand. Young man, do you write an even hand?"
The King going to Fontainebleau in summer, 1635 , and carrying Boutillier with him, whose son was with the Duke of Orleans, Servin, Secretary at War, remained at Paris. Grotius went to see him and was received with great politeness and friendship. He spoke to him of the subsidies; Servien promised his good offices.
As soon as Asie's back was turned, Europe opened the packet, on which the hapless courtesan had written: "To be delivered to Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre." Seven hundred and fifty thousand-franc notes shone in the eyes of Prudence Servien, who exclaimed: "Won't we be happy and honest for the rest of our lives!" Paccard made no objection.
Making his way through the parlour, Jean saw the Mater dolorosa as before, and read again the names of Philippe-Guy Thiererche and the Countess Valentine. "I hate them," he muttered through clenched teeth, "I hate them all." Meantime, the good priest felt a stir of pity. Every day they had badgered him with reports against Jean Servien.
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