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Updated: June 27, 2025
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.
M. Chebe, for his part, adopted a very lofty tone, with significant phrases and motions of the head, taking everything to himself as was his custom. How could any one suppose that his child, a Chebe, the daughter of an honorable business man known for thirty years on the street, was capable of Nonsense! Mademoiselle Planus insisted.
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.
He did not notice M. Chebe, who was prowling darkly between the two doors, more incensed than ever against the Fromonts. Oh! those Fromonts! How large a place they filled at that wedding! They were all there with their wives, their children, their friends, their friends' friends. One would have said that one of themselves was being married. Who had a word to say of the Rislers or the Chebes?
You should have seen the air of aristocratic disdain with which M. Chebe pronounced the word "brewery!" And yet almost every evening he went there to meet Risler, and overwhelmed him with reproaches if he once failed to appear at the rendezvous. Behind all this verbiage the merchant of the Rue du Mail "Commission-Exportation" had a very definite idea.
And the husband would go out, saunter along the boulevard by the shops, wait for the omnibus, and pass half the day in procuring two cakes, worth three sous, which he would bring home in triumph, wiping his forehead. M. Chebe adored the summer, the Sundays, the great footraces in the dust at Clamart or Romainville, the excitement of holidays and the crowd.
Risler looked at her with wide-open eyes: "You?" "Why, yes, it is easy enough to see that all these people detest me. They bear little Chebe a grudge because she has become Madame Risler Aine. Heaven only knows all the outrageous things that are said about me! And your cashier doesn't keep his tongue in his pocket, I assure you. What a spiteful fellow he is!" These few words had their effect.
Instead of discreetly moving away, he took his glass and joined the others, so that the great man, unwilling to speak before him, solemnly replaced his documents in his pocket a second time, saying to Risler: "We will talk this over later." Very much later, in truth, for M. Chebe had reflected: "My son-in-law is so good-natured!
Monsieur Chorche, Monsieur Chorche," muttered poor Sigismond; and while he pursued his journey, with bowed head and trembling legs, Madame Fromont Jeune's carriage passed him close, on its way to the Orleans station; but Claire did not see old Planus, any more than she had seen, when she left her house a few moments earlier, Monsieur Chebe in his long frock-coat and the illustrious Delobelle in his stovepipe hat, turning into the Rue des Vieilles-Haudriettes at opposite ends, each with the factory and Risler's wallet for his objective point.
The true reason was that he himself never was invited; but he gave other reasons, and would say to his wife: "Don't you see that your daughter's heart is sad when she returns from that house, and that she passes whole hours dreaming at the window?" But poor Madame Chebe, who had been so unhappy ever since her marriage, had become reckless.
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