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Updated: April 30, 2025
Just you leave your lodge as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall see what will become of us both." "Lined my purse!" cried Cibot. "I am incapable of taking the worth of a single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood for an honest woman, I am." La Cibot's eyes flashed fire.
The velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, particularly affected by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of Cibot's making, and not a penny had the little tailor charged for repairs which kept the three garments together after eleven years of wear. Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. "You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?" asked the portress.
Villemot had given his word that Pons' heir should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and gave the requisite sums; and Cibot's humble bier, escorted by sixty or eighty persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery.
Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson velvet, hanging among the portraits?... Well, those are Petitot's enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that will give three thousand francs apiece for them." La Cibot's eyes opened wide. "There are thirty of them in the pair of frames!" she said.
Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot's tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. Cibot, and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his sickroom became the universe.
Cibot was sweeping the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as his neighbor was taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for since Pons fell ill, La Cibot's work had fallen to her husband. The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, copper-colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how to be rid of him.
"I should think I do," said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. "He saved my little girl's life when she had the croup." "He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. Fraisier?" "He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult to get the postage-money at the end of the month." To a person of La Cibot's intelligence this was enough.
When he tells her to be as gentle as possible with the patient, he simply shows the creature how to make matters worse." "What does your friend think of my cousin's condition?" This man's clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot's own.
It is La Cibot's doing. . . . I ought to open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life. . . . Somebody has taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a great deal of money." "Vorgif me I sold dem." "You sold them?" "Yes, I," said poor Schmucke. "Dey summoned us to der court " "Summoned?. . . . Who summoned us?" "Wait," said Schmucke.
La Cibot had treated him as a madman and a visionary; he saw what this meant he saw the Presidente's hate and greed, her revenge in La Cibot's behavior. In the sleepless hours and lonely days of the last two months, the poor man had sifted the events of his past life. It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a tutelary genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb.
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