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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Dear Monsieur Chicot," Bonhomet ventured to observe, seeing that Chicot had finished writing, if not thinking, "Dear Monsieur Chicot, you have not told me what I am to do with this corpse." "That is a very simple affair." "For you, who are full of imagination, it may be, but for me?"
It seemed to Chicot that nothing was changed excepting the tint of the ceiling, which from gray had turned to black. "Come, friend," said Borromée, "I know a little nook where two men may talk at their ease while they drink. Is it empty?" continued he, turning to Bonhomet.
But as for being a person who does not know where his ancestors lived, I reply, as did Bonhomet when he reached heaven and the Lord said to him: 'Still a chimney-doctor, Bonhomet? 'And you, Lord?. For you were born in Bourgogne, Monsieur de Montfanon, of an ancient family, related to all the nobility-upon which I congratulate you and you have lived here in Rome for almost twenty-four years, in the Cosmopolis which you revile."
This story centered about a simple adultery and ended with an inexpressible terror when Bonhomet, opening Claire's eyelids, as she lies in her death bed, and penetrating them with monstrous plummets, distinctively perceives the reflection of the husband brandishing the lover's decapitated head, while shouting a war song, like a Kanaka.
Chicot then went and opened the door of communication, and called Bonhomet.
Suppose, again, that while he was dying this poor captain had mentioned the name, which you know very well, of the prior of Les Jacobins Saint Antoine?" "Of Dom Modeste Gorenflot?" exclaimed Bonhomet, in astonishment. "Yes, of Dom Modeste Gorenflot. Very good!
He had no occasion to call twice, for the innkeeper had been listening at the door, and had successively heard the noise of tables and stools, the clashing of swords, and the fall of a heavy body; besides, the worthy M. Bonhomet had particularly, after the confidence which had been reposed in him, too extensive an experience of the character of gentlemen of the sword in general, and of that of Chicot in particular, not to have guessed, step by step, what had taken place.
The only thing of which he was ignorant was, which of the two adversaries had fallen. It must, however, be said in praise of Maître Bonhomet that his face assumed an expression of real satisfaction when he heard Chicot's voice, and when he saw that it was the Gascon who, safe and sound, opened the door.
At this sight Bonhomet, who, like the rest of the world, had believed Chicot dead, uttered a cry, for he believed he saw a ghost. "Since when," said Chicot, "has a person like me been obliged to call twice?" "Oh! dear M. Chicot, is it you or your shade?" cried Bonhomet. "Whichever it be, since you recognize me, I hope you will obey me." "Oh! certainly, dear M. Chicot."
Come, compère." "Oh! oh!" said Chicot to himself; "now I must choose among my best grimaces; for if Bonhomet recognizes me at once, it is all over." The way along which Borromée led Chicot, never suspecting that he knew it as well as himself, recalled to our Gascon the happy days of his youth.
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