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Updated: May 10, 2025
We explained, or rather Jeanne explained, the case to M. Charnot, who is assuredly her earliest and most complete conquest. At first he cried out against the idea. He said it was entirely my business, a family matter in which he had no right to interfere. She insisted. She carried his scruples by storm. She boldly proposed a trip to Bourges, and a visit to M. Mouillard.
The sun was out of sight, but the earth was still enveloped, as it were, in a haze of luminous dust. M. Charnot pulled out his watch. "Seven minutes past eight. What time does the last train start, Jeanne?" "At ten minutes to eight." "Confusion! we are stranded in Desio! The mere thought of passing the night in that inn gives me the creeps.
M. Charnot was the first to break the silence. He did not seem altogether pleased at my appearance, and turned to his daughter, whose face had grown very red and yet rather chilling: "Jeanne, put your hat on; it is time to go to the station."
"But you have an uncle." "We have quarrelled." "You might make it up again, on an occasion like this." "Out of the question; we quarrelled on her account; my uncle hates Parisiennes." "Damn it all, then! send a friend a friend will do under the circumstances." "There's Lampron." "The painter?" "Yes, but he doesn't know Monsieur Charnot. It would only be one stranger pleading for another.
"The fellow was a scoundrel, my dear Mouillard, a regular scoundrel! I never was in favor of the match, myself. Charnot let himself be drawn into it by an old college friend. I told him over and over again, 'It's Jeanne's dowry he's after, Charnot I'm convinced of it. He'll treat Jeanne badly and make her miserable, mark my words. But I wasted my breath; he wouldn't listen to a word.
"And carry you back to Italy, I suppose?" "Then you know I have just been there?" "I know all about it. Charnot told me of your meeting, and your romantic drive by moonlight. By the way, he's come back with a bad cold; did you know that?" I assumed an air of sympathy: "Poor man! When did he get back?" "The day before yesterday.
For a long time I used to think that these qualities stood them in lieu of virtues. That was a slander; there are plenty of Parisiennes endowed with every virtue; I even know a few who are angels." At this point, M. Flamaran looked me straight in the eyes, and, as I made no reply, he added: "I know one, at least: Jeanne Charnot. Are you listening?" "Yes, Monsieur Flamaran." "Isn't she a paragon?"
For the first half-hour all three of us talked together. Then M. Charnot pushed back his armchair, and we two were left to ourselves. He had taken up a newspaper, but I am pretty sure he held it upside down. In any case he must have been reading between the lines, for he did not turn the page the whole evening.
She overflowed with reasons, some of them rather weak, but all so prettily urged! A trip to Bourges would be delightful something so novel and refreshing! Had M. Charnot complained on the previous evening, or had he not, of having to stop in Paris in the heat of August? Yes, he had complained, and quite right too, for his colleagues did not hesitate to leave their work and rush off to the country.
Will you, please, leave me your Christian name, surname, profession, and address?" I wrote down, "Fabien Jean Jacques Mouillard, barrister, 91 Rue de Rennes." "Is that all?" I asked. "Yes, sir, that is all for the present. But I warn you that Monsieur Charnot is exceedingly annoyed. It might be as well to offer him some apology." "Monsieur Charnot?" "Yes.
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