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Updated: May 27, 2025
She declared that one should make the most of the present for fear of the future, should seize happiness as it passes, as one often has no other support and consolation in life than the memory of a happy childhood. For once it happened that M. Chebe was right.
On Sunday he would take them all to the theatre; and almost every evening he would go with Messieurs Chebe and Delobelle to a brewery on the Rue Blondel, where he regaled them with beer and pretzels. Beer and pretzels were his only vice.
Why, you're the talk of the quarter, my dear fellow." "So much the better. The dishonor was public, the reparation must be public, too." This apparent coolness, this indifference to all his observations, exasperated Monsieur Chebe. He suddenly changed his tactics, and adopted, in addressing his son-in-law, the serious, peremptory tone which one uses with children or lunatics.
We looked higher than that, did we not, little Chebe? Moreover, her father called for her every evening. Sometimes, however, about the New Year, she was obliged to work late with the others, in order to complete pressing orders. In the gaslight those pale-faced Parisians, sorting pearls as white as themselves, of a dead, unwholesome whiteness, were a painful spectacle.
He had been celebrating, in company with his two faithful borrowers, Chebe and Delobelle, his first moment of leisure, the end of that almost endless period of seclusion during which he had been superintending the manufacture of his press, with all the searchings, the joys, and the disappointments of the inventor. It had been long, very long. At the last moment he had discovered a defect.
The real fact concerning this affair of honor was that M. Chebe had given notice of his intention to leave the little house at Montrouge, and had hired a shop with an entresol in the Rue du Mail, in the midst of a business district. A shop? Yes, indeed!
Driving, rowing on the river, lunch on the grass on the Ile des Ravageurs he was spared none of the charms of Asnieres; and all the time, in the dazzling sunlight of the roads, in the glare reflected by the water, he must laugh and chatter, describe his journey, talk of the Isthmus of Suez and the great work undertaken there, listen to the whispered complaints of M. Chebe, who was still incensed with his children, and to his brother's description of the Press.
What is this I hear? Ah! so you're moving, are you?" "I am not moving, Monsieur Chebe I am selling out." The little man gave a leap like a scalded fish. "You are selling out? What are you selling, pray?" "I am selling everything," said Risler in a hollow voice, without even looking at him. "Come, come, son-in-law, be reasonable.
With what arguments did his indecision lead him to favor Madame Chebe as they sat together in the evening! "I don't know anything about linen; but when you come to broadcloth, I understand that. Only, if I go into broadcloths I must have a man to travel; for the best kinds come from Sedan and Elbeuf. I say nothing about calicoes; summer is the time for them.
As for tulle, that's out of the question; the season is too far advanced." He usually brought his discourse to a close with the words: "The night will bring counsel let us go to bed." And to bed he would go, to his wife's great relief. After three or four months of this life, M. Chebe began to tire of it. The pains in the head, the dizzy fits gradually returned.
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