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Updated: June 10, 2025
Madame Chalumeau had risen, and had led her guest through the sitting-room into her immaculate kitchen. "And you have seen papa and maman?" she asked. "Yes, I come from there. Papa is much pleased that it is a boy. His eleventh great-grandson! One would think," continued the good man garrulously, "that it was his own son. Maman is looking much better, pas?" "Mama is quite wonderful. But amazing!
There were few customers, for although her wools and silks were of excellent quality, and her baby-linen most practical, the Rue Dessous l'Arche is, after all, not the Rue d'Argentin. A little girl with a bandage round her face came and bought six needles, and a Young Person, whom Madame Chalumeau did not approve, spent several moments selecting a pair of red stockings.
Madame Bathilde Chalumeau, her black cotton frock tucked up round her plump figure over her scarlet-flannel petticoat, was dusting the windows of her shop in the Rue Dessous l'Arche. It was only six o'clock and the air as yet was cool, but the trees leaning over the wall of Avocat Millot's garden opposite were grey with dust and parched with the heat of an exceptionally warm September.
"Now, father, please be good," pleaded Madame Chalumeau, to whom, together with Victor, belonged the uncomfortable honour of conducting the wayward groom to the altar. "You know you promised you would." "How can you call me father, woman? Me a young lad on his way to be married!"
'A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons of all Arcadia. Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and Lindor upon us. 'Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et le chalumeau, have with you in heroic strains. 'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.
'A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons of all Arcadia. Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and Lindor upon us. 'Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et le chalumeau, have with you in heroic strains. 'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.
Madame Chalumeau, who was standing on a chair energetically flopping her feather-brush over the panes of her double shop-front, sighed as she looked up at the brilliant sky. "It is to be a heat of the devil," she thought. Next door to her, chez Bouillard, nothing was stirring. Poor Désiré, being a widower, was apt to oversleep himself, and it was bad for his trade.
She could hardly have guessed their signifying that where ambition was so vain the next best thing to it was the very ardour of hopelessness. She found in her drawing-room the little elderly Frenchman, M. de Chalumeau, whom Longmore had observed a few days before on the terrace.
The beginning, with what I have been able to recollect of the remainder, is as follows: Tircis, je n'ose Ecouter ton Chalumeau Sous l'Ormeau; Car on en cause Deja dans notre hameau. un Berger s'engager sans danger, Et toujours l'epine est sons la rose. I have endeavored to account for the invincible charm my heart feels on the recollection of this fragment, but it is altogether inexplicable.
And twenty grandchildren, to say nothing of their seven children, and counting this boy of my Marie's, sixteen great-grandchildren. Falaise has certainly much to be proud of." Madame Chalumeau flopped her omelet again, slid it to a platter and set a carafe of cider on the table. "L
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