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Updated: May 27, 2025
At last at the end of the Place a large hired landau appeared, drawn by two thin horses, which a coachman in a white hat was whipping lustily. Binet had only just time to shout, "Present arms!" and the colonel to imitate him. All ran towards the enclosure; everyone pushed forward.
Andre-Louis, reading the sheet at breakfast, and having no delusions on the score of the falseness of that statement, laughed inwardly. The novelty of the thing, and the pretentiousness in which he had swaddled it, had deceived them finely. He turned to greet Binet and Climene, who entered at that moment. He waved the sheet above his head.
"It is of course possible. But does it matter?" "It might matter. Tell me; what became of La Binet after all?" "I don't know." "You don't know?" She turned to consider him. "And you can say it with that indifference! I thought... I thought you loved her, Andre." "So did I, for a little while. I was mistaken. It required a La Tour d'Azyr to disclose the truth to me.
"My God, have you no feelings?" she reproved her father. "The lad has hurt his foot. Must you torture him? Will that cure it?" "Hurt his foot!" said Binet. "I can see nothing the matter with his foot nothing to justify all this uproar. He has bruised it, maybe..." "A man with a bruised foot doesn't scream like that," said Madame over Climene's shoulder. "Perhaps he has dislocated it."
He wrote a piquant article on the glories of the Comedie de l'Art, and its resurrection by the improvising troupe of the great mime Florimond Binet. Binet's name was not Florimond; it was just Pierre. But Andre-Louis had a great sense of the theatre.
He also noticed that Monsieur Binet had not been present, and that Tuvache had "made off" after mass, and that Theodore, the notary's servant wore a blue coat, "as if one could not have got a black coat, since that is the custom, by Jove!" And to share his observations with others he went from group to group.
Then, again, his callous cynicism in hoping that he had killed Binet is also an affectation. Knowing that such things as Binet are better out of the world, he can have suffered no compunction; he had, you must remember, that rarely level vision which sees things in their just proportions, and never either magnifies or reduces them by sentimental considerations.
"Hush! hush!" said Emma, pointing with her finger to the druggist. But Binet, quite absorbed in looking over his bill, had probably heard nothing. At last he went out. Then Emma, relieved, uttered a deep sigh. "How hard you are breathing!" said Madame Homais. "Well, you see, it's rather warm," she replied. So the next day they talked over how to arrange their rendezvous.
"Consider, then, that you killed his friend." "I find in that nothing with which to reproach myself. My justification lay in the circumstances the subsequent events in this distracted country surely confirm it." "And..." She faltered a little, and looked away from him for the first time. "And that you... that you... And what of Mademoiselle Binet, whom he was to have married?"
"Go to the devil," Binet flung at him. "Better and better." Polichinelle made for the door. On the threshold he halted and struck an attitude. "Understand me, Binet. I do not now play Scaramouche in any circumstances whatever." And he went out. On the whole, it was a very dignified exit. Andre-Louis shrugged, threw out his arms, and let them fall to his sides again.
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