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Updated: May 3, 2025
You, mademoiselle, who know so many things, tell me if it is possible for a man to make himself beloved independently of his person, be it handsome or ugly, and for his spirit only?" Modeste raised her eyes and looked at Butscha. It was a piercing and questioning glance; for she shared Dumay's suspicion of Butscha's motive.
How then could it be that the race of heroes and valiant men belonging to the proud house of Herouville, who gave the famous marshal to the nation, cardinals to the church, great leaders to the Valois, knights to Louis XIV., was reduced to a little fragile being smaller than Butscha?
No one but me really knows what nobility, what pride, what devotion, what mysterious grace, what unwearying kindness, what true religion, gaiety, wit, delicacy, knowledge, and courtesy there are in the soul and in the heart of that adorable creature!" Butscha drew out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, and La Briere pressed his hand for a long time.
"It is all over!" he said; "she is caught by him; I am more disagreeable to her, and moreover, she is right. Canalis is charming; there's intellect in his silence, passion in his eyes, poetry in his rhodomontades." "Is he an honest man?" asked Butscha. "Oh, yes," replied La Briere.
"Then you approve of stratagems?" said Modeste. "On both sides," cried Gobenheim, "and that brings it even." This conversation was carried on by fits and starts, as they say, in the intervals of cutting and dealing the cards; and it soon turned chiefly on the merits of the Duc d'Herouville, who was thought very good-looking by little Latournelle, little Dumay, and little Butscha.
Here, my dear sir, take this road, and you will get home in ten minutes." But as they parted, Butscha turned back and hailed poor Ernest, who, as a true lover, would gladly have stayed there all night talking of Modeste. "Monsieur," said Butscha, "I have not yet had the honor of seeing our great poet. I am very curious to observe that magnificent phenomenon in the exercise of his functions.
"Ha, ha, so all the world is in love with Mademoiselle de La Bastie?" And Butscha suddenly appeared and looked at La Briere. La Briere checked his anger when, by the light of the moon, he saw the dwarf, and he made a few steps without replying. "Soldiers who serve in the same company ought to be good comrades," remarked Butscha. "You don't love Canalis; neither do I."
His uncle Gobenheim-Keller is all the time writing him, 'Get rich enough to marry a Keller. With that idea in his mind you may be sure he doesn't know which sex Modeste belongs to. No other men ever come here, for of course I don't count Butscha, poor little fellow; I love him! He is your Dumay, madame," said the cashier to Madame Latournelle.
"Well, so much the better. When you are both so angry that you can't speak civilly to each other I engage to make him desperately in love and so pressing that you will be deceived yourself." "Come, come, Butscha; he is a great poet; he is a gentleman; he is a man of intellect." "Your father's eight millions are more to him than all that." "Eight millions!" exclaimed Modeste.
"Then," said Butscha, stooping to pick up a pebble that he might kiss the hem of her garment, "suffer me to watch over you as a dragon guards a treasure. The poet was covering you just now with the lace-work of his precious phrases, the tinsel of his promises; he chanted his love on the best strings of his lyre, I know he did.
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