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Updated: May 10, 2025
Eight o'clock.... Counsellor Mouillard has finished his pleadings and must be sitting down to a game of whist with Counsellors Horlet and Hublette, of the Court of Bourges. They wait for me to make up the four. Perish the awful prospect! And M. Charnot? He, I suppose, is still spinning the paper spiral. How easily serious people are amused! Perhaps I am a serious person. The least thing amuses me.
Jeanne and M. Charnot will do the rest. It is with Jeanne, by the light of her eyes and her smile, that M. Mouillard is "to study the situation;" he will have to struggle against the redoubtable arguments of her youth and beauty. Poor man! Jeanne is full of confidence. Her father, who has learned his lesson from her, feels sure that my uncle will give in.
Two rooms ran parallel to each other, filled with pictures, medals, and engravings, and were connected by a narrow gallery devoted to sculpture. Hardly was the door opened when M. Charnot sought the famous medals with his eye. There they were in the middle of the room in two rows of cases. He was deeply moved.
But the happiest, the most radiant, next to ourselves, were the people who came only for Jeanne's sake and mine; Sylvestre Lampron, painter-in-ordinary to Mademoiselle Charnot, bringing his pretty sketch as a wedding-present; M. Flamaran and Sidonie; Jupille, who wept as he used to "thirty years ago;" and M. and Madame Plumet, who took it in turns to carry their white-robed infant.
I was walking along slowly, looking into every stall, and when I came to the end I turned right about face. Great Heavens! Not ten feet off! M. Flamaran, M. Charnot, and Mademoiselle Jeanne! They had stopped before one of the stalls that I had just left. M. Flamaran was carrying under his arm a pot of cineraria, which made his stomach a perfect bower.
"And I leave it in the hands of God," she answered. "Be a man. If trouble awaits us, hope will at any rate steal us a happy hour or two." We were just then in front of the gardens of the Archbishop's palace, so M. Charnot walked in.
Yes, she hates me. It is too painful to think of. Mademoiselle Charnot will probably remain but a stranger to me, a fugitive apparition in my path of life; yet her anger lies heavy upon me, and the thought of those disdainful lips pursues me. I had rarely been more thoroughly disgusted with myself, and with all about me.
I am Monsieur Charnot of the Institute." Lampron gave a glance in my direction, and his frown melted away. "Excuse me, Monsieur; I only know you by your back. Had you shown me that side of you I might perhaps have recognized "
You would have been able to go over the house, and inspect a collection of medals which, I have heard, is a very fine one." "Unique, Monsieur!" "Unfortunately you are going away, and to-morrow I have to leave Milan myself, for Paris." "You have been some time in Italy, then?" "Nearly a fortnight." M. Charnot gave his daughter a meaning look, and suddenly became more friendly.
You can not remain on bad terms with your father's brother, the only relative you have left. In our eyes this reconciliation is a duty, a necessity. You should desire it as much as, and even more than, we." "I shall use every effort, Monsieur, I promise you." "And in that case you will succeed, I feel sure." M. Charnot, who had grown very pale, held out his hand to me, and tried hard to smile.
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