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Updated: June 21, 2025
Though the justice of this phraseology may be questioned, my readers shall judge. Bobichel placed his hat carefully on the side of the road, and then gravely began the charming exercise which is called the "frog." Bobichel did this with the most remarkable ease, and his wittiest sallies were uttered in this attitude.
With the point of a knife Fanfaro opened Girdel's tightly compressed lips; the clown poured a few drops of the liquid down his throat, and in a few moments Girdel slowly opened his eyes and a deep sigh came from his breast. When Bobichel put the bottle to his mouth again, he drank a deep draught. "Hurrah, he is rescued!" exclaimed the clown, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
He then walked to Rolla and mockingly whispered: "This time you reckoned without your host." Rolla shuddered, and a look flew from Bobichel to Fanfaro. Robeckal now thought it proper to appear and come from behind a post. He said in a whining voice: "Thank God that our brave master lives. I dreaded the worst."
Fanfar and Gudel were far away. Poor Bobichel! The 29th of February, 1824, was a Sunday, and a fête day. At that time the Carnival was in full blast, and the streets were crowded with curious spectators. A carriage drew up before a fashionable restaurant in the Palais Royal. The carriage was driven by a coachman wearing a powdered wig, and the horses were magnificent.
In the meantime Girdel continued to converse with the two gentlemen; Schwan went here and there, and Fanfaro, Caillette and Bobichel were waiting for the athlete's orders for the evening performance. "How goes it?" asked the carman, now softly. "Good," replied Girdel, in the same tone. "The peasants are prepared?" "Yes. The seed is ripe. They are only waiting for the order to begin to sow.
"Oh, Bobichel!" exclaimed Fanfaro, gratefully, "if you want to help us?" "Of course I do. I will accompany master to Robeckal, for I also have a bone to pick with the scoundrel." Louison's crazy mother had passed a miserable night.
With their aid Bobichel dropped from the window. "Now it is my turn!" said Caillette, and, light as a bird, she seized the rope. "Take care, child! Take care!" cried Fanfar. "Would it pain you," she asked quickly, "if I came to grief?" "Hush! child."
Bobichel uttered a cry of joy as he saw the party approach. "Thank God, master," he gleefully cried, "that you are home again. Caillette, Firejaws!" he cried aloud, "he is just returned!" A woman and a giant hurried at Bobichel's call. Fanfaro jumped from his horse, and embraced his wife and daughter. "Irene, have a bed prepared. The child will be intrusted to your care."
No power on earth could induce him to have anything to do with the marquis. He would leave France, and try to forget, in a foreign country, what he had suffered. That very night Fanfaro travelled, in company with his sister, Girdel, Bobichel, and Caillette, to Algiers. Before the ship lifted anchor, Fanfaro had received from Irene's lips the promise that she would become his wife.
The royal messenger waited a moment and then he, too, walked away, and going down a narrow alley he entered a little wineshop by a back door, and throwing himself on a bench, exclaimed: "I was just in time, Bobichel. A second later and Fanfar would have been no more!" The hospital was now anxious to get rid of this useless body, and orders were given that it should be buried without delay.
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