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Updated: June 27, 2025
Ah, then, eight hundred miles and more would separate him from the offices of La Capitale, of the police stations, of wretched dens and hovels with their pestilential smells, would separate him from this everlasting bad weather, from the cold, the wet, which were the ordinary concomitants of his daily existence. To the devil with all that! No more copy to feed printer and paper with!
M. de Panteloup, seized with a happy inspiration, shook hands with Ouaouaoua and pinned on his white robe the gold medal of La Capitale. Proceedings were, however, summarily brought to a stop at this point. The prefect of the police drove up and his men scattered the crowd in all directions.
Two police officers tried to force their way to the musicians and after some difficulty they succeeded in arresting the flute and the trombone players. This act of brutality occasioned some commotion and the crowd began to murmur. The employés of La Capitale now brought up several handcarts and improvised a sort of platform.
"It is a name not unknown to me," replied the minister; then, having innumerable calls on his time, he quickly disappeared. A few minutes after, in one of the little sitting-rooms reserved for Parliamentary Commissions, the manager of La Capitale was conversing with his chief reporter.
As a matter of fact, those who read La Capitale had been advised through its columns that an attempt would be made to solve the mystery of the Singing Fountains, which had intrigued Paris for so many weeks. A small army of newsboys offered the paper for sale during the ceremony. Marie Pascal bought a copy and read it eagerly. "They haven't a word about the affair yet," she cried.
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