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Updated: June 2, 2025
Chatting thus, and laughing, we made our way across the Boulevard and through a net-work of by-streets into the Rue Vivienne, where we laid siege to a great bon-bon shop a gigantic depot for dyspepsia at so much per kilogramme and there filled our pockets with sweets of every imaginable flavor and color.
To enter the little café in the cul-de-sac Le Febvre was, at the period of our tale, to enter the sanctum of a man of genius. Bon-Bon was a man of genius. There was not a sous-cuisinier in Rouen who could not have told you that Bon-Bon was a man of genius. His very cat knew it, and forbore to whisk her tail in the presence of the man of genius.
"You shall stay here as long as you want," Robin finally declared, popping a round bon-bon between the child's trembling lips. "We needed a little girl to sit at the foot of that tree, didn't we?" At Robin's command, Harkness played the rôle of Santa. The girls had fashioned all sorts of nonsensical gifts out of paper and cardboard and paste; no one was forgotten. Mrs.
In other respects the Café de Bon-Bon might be said to differ little from the usual restaurants of the period. A large fireplace yawned opposite the door. On the right of the fireplace an open cupboard displayed a formidable array of labelled bottles.
Looking at the empty box on the pianola, she exclaimed: "Oh, here's one; just watch me tear this off." The roll was the ragtime tune of "Bon-Bon Buddy My Chocolate Drop." She started to play. Pushing wide open the tempo lever she worked the pedals with the ingenuous delight and enthusiasm of a child. "Ain't it grand?" she cried.
“That is neither here nor there, Monsieur Bon-Bon,” replied his Majesty, musingly. “I have tasted that is to say, I have known some very bad souls, and some too pretty good ones.” Here he smacked his lips, and, having unconsciously let fall his hand upon the volume in his pocket, was seized with a violent fit of sneezing.
As usual, no expense had been spared in the mounting, and Adrien's money had been poured out like water on extraordinary costumes, gorgeous, highly-coloured scenery, and a hundred embellishments for this new piece of elaborate and senseless burlesque, Prince Bon-Bon. But with all its deficiencies as regarded culture, the piece appeared to be a success.
Bon-Bon, as far as I can learn, did not think the subject adapted to minute investigation; nor do I. Yet in the indulgence of a propensity so truly classical, it is not to be supposed that the restaurateur would lose sight of that intuitive discrimination which was wont to characterize, at one and the same time, his essais and his omelettes.
The whole contents of the bag were emptied out on to a leaf with minute care lest one precious grain should be lost, and then the naked aborigines gathered round and feasted. These jungle dwellers lack salt in their daily food, and look upon it as a luxury, much as a child regards the contents of a bon-bon box. With eager fingers they clutched the salt, and conveyed it to their mouths in handfuls.
“Only think hiccup! of a fricasséed shadow!” exclaimed our hero, whose faculties were becoming much illuminated by the profundity of His Majesty’s discourse. “Only think of a hiccup! fricasséed shadow!! Now, damme! hiccup! humph! If I would have been such a hiccup! nincompoop! My soul, Mr. humph!” “Your soul, Monsieur Bon-Bon?” “Yes, sir hiccup! my soul is ” “What, sir?” “No shadow, damme!”
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