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Updated: June 24, 2025
Nothing has been taught them, but they have a rude notion of everything. They have seen pineapples at Chevet's, a palm-tree in the Jardin des Plantes, sugar-canes selling on the Pont-Neuf.
Miss Maitland and Zoe led. Fanny and Harrington followed: for Miss Dover, elated by the blues though, by-the-by, one hears of them as depressing and encouraged by admiration and Chevet's violet-perfumed St. Peray, took Harrington's arm, really as if it belonged to her. They went into the library first, and, after a careless inspection, came to the great attraction of the place.
The priest was obliged to assume Chevet's former position, and I would gladly have accompanied him, but Cassion suddenly gripped me in his arms, and without so much as a word, waded out through the surf, and put me down in his boat, clambering in himself, and shouting his orders to the paddlers. I think we were all of us glad enough to get away.
"I I have given no testimony, Monsieur," I faltered, "but I I saw you in the moonlight bending over Chevet's dead body." My eyes fell before his; I could not look into his face, yet I had a sense that he was actually glad to hear my words. There was no anger, rather happiness and relief in the gray eyes. "And you actually believed I struck the blow?
Nothing has been taught them, but they have a rude notion of everything. They have seen pineapples at Chevet's, a palm-tree in the Jardin des Plantes, sugar-canes selling on the Pont-Neuf.
This episode of his second sojourn in Paris stretched itself out wearily, with their resumed readings and wanderings and maunderings, their potterings on the quays, their hauntings of the museums, their occasional lingerings in the Palais Royal when the first sharp weather came on and there was a comfort in warm emanations, before Chevet's wonderful succulent window.
Our evening was just over at the Palais-Royal, and I had gone up to my room, when loud shouts, and an ejaculation of "Oh, good gracious!" from my valet, made me run to the window. The Court of the Palais-Royal was closed, but all the galleries were filled with a surging, yelling crowd, the more violent of whom were battering at the staircase door facing Chevet's shop.
It was the sun which awoke me, and I sat up close beside Chevet's knee, eagerly interested in the scene. Once I spoke, pointing to the grim guns on the summit of the crest above, but he answered so harshly as to compel silence. It was thus we swept up to the edge of the landing, and made fast.
"Ay, you know it well, a brown leather bag I bore with me during our journey." "And where is it, Monsieur?" "Beneath the bunk in the sleeping room. Pass it out to me, and I will ask no more." "'Twill be safer if you keep your word," I said quietly, "for I still carry Hugo Chevet's pistol, and know how to use it. Draw away from the door, Monsieur, and I will thrust out the bag."
"He said he'd tell you to-morrow morning," remarked Fanny Beaupre. "The devil take him and his orgies!" exclaimed Florentine. "He and Camusot are worse than magistrates or stage-managers. But we have very good dinners here, Mariette," she continued. "Cardot always orders them from Chevet's; bring your Duc de Maufrigneuse and we'll make them dance like Tritons."
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