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Updated: May 27, 2025
He indulges in a dainty pessimism and is most of all an impressionist, not of the vogue of Zola although he can be, on occasion, as brutally plain as he but more in the manner of Victor Hugo, his predecessor, or Alphonse Daudet, his lifelong friend.
Alphonse slipped her sole remaining garment over her head and she stood in all her naked beauty before us. I had seen many naked women, but none to compare to Eudoxie; she was grace, beauty and voluptuousness combined.
Are you feeling well enough to entertain the old man to-night?" said the plaintive voice of Alphonse de Maistre, as father and daughter resumed their seats on the verandah, after the simple evening meal was over. "Oh yes," Fifine answered quickly, "my foot scarcely pains at all now, it will be nothing serious, I think, after all."
Mr. Smith, of course, was in his glory. "What have you got to-day, Alf?" he would say, as he strolled over to the marquis. The name of the Chief was, I believe Alphonse, but "Alf" was near enough for Mr. Smith. The marquis would extend to the proprietor the menu, "Voila, m'sieu, la carte du jour." Mr. Smith, by the way, encouraged the use of the French language in the caff.
In a few minutes he descended the spiral iron staircase and desired to know Mademoiselle's pleasure. "You speak English?" she asked. "But certainly, Mademoiselle." She gave a little sigh of relief. "I wonder," she said, "if you remember waiting upon my brother last Thursday week. He was tall and fair, and something like me. He had just arrived in Paris." Monsieur Alphonse smiled.
As he spoke they turned a corner, and a blaze of light burst upon them, coming from what seemed to be a gap in the street face, a house whereof the two lower stories were wall and windowless, though not in the manner of the ordinary cafe, seeing that the open parts were raised somewhat above the pavement. 'The patron saint! said Alphonse, stopping with a grin and pointing.
When the friends were together at gay supper-parties, Alphonse paid no particular heed to Charles. He kept no account of his own love-affairs, far less of those of his friend. So it might easily happen that a beauty on whom Charles had cast a longing eye fell into the hands of Alphonse.
Alphonse Michelson unlocked the door of his second-floor five-room apartment, a lamp softly burning through a yellow silk lamp-shade met him with the soft radiance of home. Beside the door he divested himself of his rain-spotted mackintosh, inserted his dripping umbrella in a tall china stand, shook a little rivulet from his hat and hung it on a pair of wall antlers. "That you, Phonzie?"
The concert was getting popular. Somebody wanted to send for a certain Alphonse who had an occarina. Two other poilus, men in the forties, came up, their dark-brown, horseshoe beards making them look like brothers. Side by side against the faded paper on the sunny wall they stood, surveying us contentedly.
And as Alphonse had now to work on his own account, it was soon clear to any one who observed him closely, that in spite of his promptitude, his amiability, and his prepossessing appearance, he was not fitted to be at the head of an independent business. And there was one person who DID observe him closely.
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