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Updated: May 10, 2025
M. Charnot tossed his head, like a father who, though he may not be convinced, yet admits that he is beaten. As for me, Jeanne, I'm beginning to believe in the fairies again. August 3d. I have made another visit to the Rue de l'Universite. They have decided to make the trip. I leave for Bourges tomorrow, a day in advance of M. and Mademoiselle Charnot, who will arrive on the following morning.
It was cruel, all the same. Nothing was left for me but to hurry my departure. I got up to go. "But," said M. Charnot in the smoothest of tones, "I do not think we have yet discussed the question that brought you here." "I should hesitate, sir, to trespass further on your time." "Never mind that. Your question concerns?" "The costume of the Latini Juniani."
I fancied that the beadle was colder, and that the keepers were shadowing me like a political suspect. I thought it wise to change my side, so now I make out my list of books at the left- hand desk and occupy a seat on the left side of the room. M. Charnot remains faithful to his post beneath the right-hand inkstand. I have been watching him.
My fears redoubled when I saw Jeanne and M. Charnot at the windows of the train, as it swept past me into the station. A minute later she stepped on to the platform, dressed all in gray, with roses in her cheeks, and a pair of gull's wings in her hat.
After he had enjoyed the pleasure of proving how feeble in comparison were the charms of a Titian or a Veronese, then only did M. Charnot walk step by step to the first case and bend reverently over it. Yet the collection of paintings was unworthy of such disdain. The pictures were few, but all were signed with great names, most of them Italian, a few Dutch, Flemish, or German.
"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.
We should come upon the path they took, about sixty yards ahead." Five minutes later he was signalling to me from behind the trunk of a great beech. "Here they are." Jeanne and M. Charnot were seated on a fallen trunk beside the path, which here was almost lost beneath the green boughs. Their backs were toward us.
"'That this portrait is for Monsieur Gonin, or anybody else at Fontainebleau. "Mademoiselle Charnot drew back in surprise. "'For whom, then? "'An actress. "'Take care what you are saying, Madame. "'For Mademoiselle Tigra of the Bouffes. "'Lies! cried Dufilleul. 'Prove it, Madame; prove your story, please! "'Look at the back, answered Madame Plumet, quietly.
Besides, you might as well try to catch up with a deer as with him." "That's true. I'd better wait for him. When will he be in?" "Not before ten. I can tell you that it's not once a year that he goes out like this in the morning." "But, Madeleine, Jeanne will be here by ten!" "Oh, is Jeanne her name?" "Yes. Monsieur Charnot will be here, too.
When she spoke, it was in a higher key: "Don't you think the breeze is very fresh this evening?" A long-drawn sigh came from the back part of the carriage. M. Charnot was waking up. He wished to prove that he had only been meditating. "Yes, my dear, it's a charming evening," he replied; "these Italian nights certainly keep up their reputation."
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