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Updated: May 16, 2025
You shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I would never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to borrow another five hundred francs of him " "It ees his illness!" cried Schmucke he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put an arm round her waist "haf batience." "As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread upon," said she.
At the sight of that image of Death in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the black fowl as it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad Astaroth to walk over the cards that lay out on the table, a cold thrill ran through Mme. Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong belief can give strong emotions. An assured income, to be or not to be, that was the question.
Fraisier downstairs in the porter's lodge was waiting to hear that La Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client's agitation and dismay. "What has happened?" "This has happened, my dear M. Fraisier.
This person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which he sat on a green leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, and brought forward a chair. "Mme. Cibot, I believe?" queried he, in dulcet tones. "Yes, sir," answered the portress. She had lost her habitual assurance.
Cibot, lawful wedlock and a portress' life were offered to her just in time; while she still preserved a comeliness of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the Rue de Normandie, who called her "a great blowsy thing," Mme. Cibot might have sat as a model to Rubens.
"I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days," added she, making as though she were in great pain. When I saw him lying there on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if he had been a child, and carried him back to bed, I did. And I strained myself, I can feel it now. Ah! how it hurts! I am going downstairs. Look after our patient. I will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain.
At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be worth such a lot of money.
"No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody " "Do let me speak!" continued Pons. "Let me see; I put M. Schmucke first " "M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you," cried La Cibot. "Ah! he loves me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you are rich!
Do you know that I have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten years? And if you will have as much some day, I will undertake to make a handsome fortune for you as my wife. You would be the mistress my sister should wait on you and do the work of the house, and " A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the death agony had begun. "Go away," said La Cibot.
I will give you a receipt, bearing interest at five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an income of twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons' estate you will cancel it." La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. "Silence gives consent," Fraisier continued. "Let me have it to-morrow morning." "Oh!
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