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Updated: May 7, 2025
Ten days after Amedee's meeting with Jocquelet, the latter recited his poem "Before Sebastopol" at a magnificent entertainment given at the Gaite for the benefit of an illustrious actor who had become blind and reduced to poverty. This "dramatic solemnity," to use the language of the advertisement, began by being terribly tiresome.
To Amedee's amazement, Pere Lebuffle called the greater part of his clients "thou," and as soon as the newcomers were seated at table, Amedee asked Sillery, in a low voice, the cause of this familiarity. "It is caused by the hard times, my dear Violette," responded the editor of 'La Guepe' as he unfolded his napkin.
These lovely, cool, autumnal evenings, upon the balcony, under the starry heavens, are the most distant of all Amedee's memories. Then there was a break in his memory, like a book with several leaves torn out, after which he recalls many sad days. Winter had come, and they no longer spent their evenings upon the balcony. One could see nothing now through the windows but a dull, gray sky.
Amedee's spirits began to revive, and he examined the place, so entirely new to him, where his growing reputation had admitted him. It was a vast drawing-room after the First Empire style, hung and furnished in yellow satin, whose high white panels were decorated with trophies of antique weapons carved in wood and gilded.
Then, upon beautiful days, how convenient the garden would be for the child and the nurse. Suddenly, in the midst of this chattering, he noticed Amedee's sad face as he shrank into the back of the carriage. "Forgive me, my dear friend," said he, taking him affectionately by the hand. "I forgot what you told me just now. Ah! fate is ridiculous, when I think that my happiness makes you feel badly."
On Sunday morning the bishop was to drive overland to Sainte-Agnes from Hanover, and Emil Bergson had been asked to take the place of one of Amedee's cousins in the cavalcade of forty French boys who were to ride across country to meet the bishop's carriage. At six o'clock on Sunday morning the boys met at the church.
It was the new-comer's "singular air" which established his identity. Amedee's vagueness had irked me, but the thing itself the "singular air" was not at all vague. Instantly perceptible, it was an investiture; marked, definite and intangible. My interrogator was "that other monsieur." In response to his question I asked him another: "Were the roses real or artificial?"
Well, I hope that you will leave the Cafe de Seville and not linger with all these badly combed fellows. You must go into society; it is indispensable to a man of letters, and I will present you whenever you wish." For the time being Amedee's ardor was a little dampened concerning the Bohemians with whom he enjoyed so short a favor, and who had also in many ways shocked his delicacy.
Emil turned and went into the church. Amedee's was the only empty pew, and he sat down in it. Some of Amedee's cousins were there, dressed in black and weeping. When all the pews were full, the old men and boys packed the open space at the back of the church, kneeling on the floor. There was scarcely a family in town that was not represented in the confirmation class, by a cousin, at least.
Then, upon beautiful days, how convenient the garden would be for the child and the nurse. Suddenly, in the midst of this chattering, he noticed Amedee's sad face as he shrank into the back of the carriage. "Forgive me, my dear friend," said he, taking him affectionately by the hand. "I forgot what you told me just now. Ah! fate is ridiculous, when I think that my happiness makes you feel badly."
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