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The Societe des Gens de Lettres desires that, the first having been named by me the "Chateaudun" and the second "Les Chatiments", the third shall be called the "Victor Hugo." I have consented. Pierre Veron has sent me Daumier's fine drawing representing the Empire annihilated by Les Chatiments. November 16. Baroche, they say, has died at Caen.

'Yes! yes! exclaimed the son; 'Edouard gave the money into my hands, and if there is any blame, it is mine alone. M. de Véron listened with a stolid, stony apathy to all this, save for a slight glimmer of triumph that, spite of himself, shone out at the corners of his half-closed eyes.

"Luna fedel, tu chiama Col raggio ed io col suon, La fulgida mia dama Sul gotico veron!" "You know," he went on impetuously "You know I told you before that I am not a society man. I said that if I came to dinner to meet your London friends, I should be very much in the way. You have found me so. A man of my age and of my settled habits and convictions ought to avoid society altogether.

"Does Madame know that the fils Poupard is leaving by the four o'clock train -and that Cranger and Veron are going too?" asked my faithful Catherine. "No." "Yes, Madame and Honorine is in the wash-house crying as though her heart would break." I turned on my heel and walked toward the river.

When Balzac first wrote for the review, Charles Rabou held this post, following Dr. Veron; but he resigned in a few months, and was succeeded in his turn by Amedee Pichot. With him Balzac waged continual war, finally dealing a heavy blow to the review by deserting it altogether in 1833.

Is not that so, Monsieur de Véron? she added, again fixing on the merchant the same menacing look that Le Blanc had noticed in the church. 'Yes, yes, was the quick reply of M. de Véron, who vainly attempted to look the astounded clerk in the face. 'The mistake was mine. Your accounts are quite correct, Monsieur le Blanc; and and I shall be glad, of course, to see you at the office as usual.

The count still wore his muddy clothes, and his pale, bewildered face betrayed the prodigal returning from his debauch. The countess looked as though she were utterly fagged out by a night in the train. She was dropping with sleep, but her hair had been brushed anyhow, and her eyes were deeply sunken. We are in a little set of lodgings on the fourth floor in the Rue Veron at Montmartre.

For Antonia is very elegant since she married Véron. I could not help wincing when I saw that lanky woman, who had clung to me in venturesome rooms, now assiduous around us in her ceremonious attire. But how far off and obliterated all that was! We rearranged the house. We did not alter the general arrangement, nor the places of the heavy furniture that would have been too great a change.

Bishop Gardiner, who had been kept in prison while Parliament was in session lest his presence in the Upper House might lead to trouble, was released in January 1548, but in May a peremptory summons was issued commanding him to come to London without delay. He obeyed, and for some time negotiations were carried on, until at last he was ordered to preach against the Pope, monasteries, confession, and in favour of the English Communion service (29th June). He was urged not to treat of the sacrifice of the Mass, or of Transubstantiation, and warned of the serious consequences that might ensue in case he disobeyed; but Gardiner was a man who could not be deterred by such means from speaking his mind, and as a consequence he was again placed under arrest, and sent as a prisoner to the Tower. Cranmer, who had rejected the authority of the Pope because he was a foreigner, finding that he could get no support from the clergy or the universities for in spite of everything that had taken place the theology of Oxford and Cambridge was still frankly conservative invited preachers to come from abroad to assist in weaning the English nation from the Catholic faith. The men who responded to his call formed a motley crowd. They were Germans like Martin Bucer and Paul Fagius, Italian apostate friars like Peter Martyr (Pietro Martire Vermigli) and Ochino, Frenchmen like Jean Véron, Poles like John

Whatever he touches the nude, in the swimming-baths on the Seine, the intimations of landscape, when his petits rentiers go into the suburbs for a Sunday acquires relief and character, Docteur Véron, a celebrity of the reign of Louis-Philippe, a Mæcenas of the hour, a director of the opera, author of the Mémoires d'un Bourgeois de Paris this temporary "illustration," who appears to have been almost indecently ugly, would not be vivid to us to-day had not Daumier, who was often effective at his expense, happened to have represented him, in some crisis of his career, as a sort of naked inconsolable Vitellius.