United States or Wallis and Futuna ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
For Pécuchet was not far from understanding it, and threw the blame for every crime on the manoeuvres of the aristocrats, gold, and the foreigner. In the mind of Bouvard there could be no dispute as to the use of the words, "Ascend to heaven, son of St. Louis," as to the incident about the virgins of Verdun, or as to the culottes clothed in human skin.
Then, thinking the infusion too small, he wanted to strengthen it with two additional spoonfuls. "This will be execrable," said Pécuchet. "Not at all." And while each of them was trying to draw the work-box closer to himself, the tray upset and fell down. One of the cups was smashed the last of their fine porcelain tea-service. Bouvard turned pale. "Go on! Confusion! Don't put yourself about!"
Pécuchet became quite a bore from his mania for putting his handkerchief on the tablecloth. Bouvard never gave up his pipe, and would keep twisting himself about while he was talking. They started disputes about the dishes, or about the quality of the butter; and while they were chatting face to face each was thinking of different things. A certain occurrence had upset Pécuchet's mind.
Bouvard would bring his furniture, Pécuchet his big black table; they would turn the curtains to account; and, with a few kitchen utensils, this would be quite sufficient. They swore to keep silent about all this, but their faces spoke volumes. So their colleagues thought them funny.
"For my part," said Bouvard, "I used to pay for a seat in the pit sometimes at the Vaudeville to hear farces." Foureau asked Madame Bordin whether she liked farces. "That depends on what kind they are," she said. The mayor rallied her. She made sharp rejoinders to his pleasantries. Then she mentioned a recipe for preparing gherkins.
In a postscript, Larsoneur confessed his longing to have a look at this bowl, which opportunity would be afforded him in a few days, when he would be starting on a trip from Brittany. Then Bouvard and Pécuchet plunged into Celtic archæology.
"Pooh!" said Bouvard. "But I am!" cried the other. "It is not your money but your convictions that I want. Come," replied Bouvard. "Oh! you obstinate fellow!" said Minoret. The Mesmerist led his sceptic, with some precaution, up a dingy staircase to the fourth floor.
"Ah! that does one good!" said Bouvard, inhaling the air till it filled his lungs. "You are so painstaking." "It is not that I have talent; but as for fire, I possess some of that." "One can see," she returned, pausing between the words, "that you were in love in your early days." "Only in my early days, you believe?" She stopped. "I know nothing about it." "What does she mean?"
Bouvard found difficulty in believing it; then he laughed hugely, but stopped on perceiving tears in Pécuchet's eyes for he had not been without attachments, having by turns been smitten by a rope-dancer, the sister-in-law of an architect, a bar-maid, and a young washerwoman; and the marriage had even been arranged when he had discovered that she was enceinte by another man.
"You're getting your death of cold up there!" said Bouvard; and he began making smiling faces at the dog, while pretending to give him things. The dog, no doubt, understood these advances. Bouvard went so far as to caress him, stuck the animal's paws on his shoulders, and rubbed them with his finger-nails. "Hollo! look here! there, he's off with my breeches!"
Word Of The Day