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Updated: May 27, 2025
No sooner did Madame Clapart see the drops coursing down his cheeks than she felt herself helpless, and, like most mothers in such cases, she began the peroration which terminates these scenes, scenes in which they suffer their own anguish and that of their children also.
On the day when he was no longer able to keep his place, what would become of them? "For myself," she said, "by nursing the sick, or living as a housekeeper in some great family, I could support myself and Monsieur Clapart; but you, Oscar, what could you do? You have no means, and you must earn some, for you must live.
Pierrotin, now about fifty-six years old, was little changed. Still dressed in a blue blouse, beneath which he wore a black suit, he smoked his pipe, and superintended the two porters in livery, who were stowing away the luggage in the great imperiale. "Are your places taken?" he said to Madame Clapart and Oscar, eyeing them like a man who is trying to recall a likeness to his memory.
During the meal uncle Cardot observed his nephew without appearing to do so, and soon saw that the lad knew nothing of life. "Send him here to me now and then," he said to Madame Clapart, as he bade her good-bye, "and I'll form him for you." This visit calmed the anxieties of the poor mother, who had not hoped for such brilliant success.
Madame Husson, at last a widow, was as little recognizable as her son. Clapart, a victim of Fieschi's machine, had served his wife better by death than by all his previous life. The idle lounger was hanging about, as usual, on the boulevard du Temple, gazing at the show, when the explosion came.
When Moreau returned to France as the secretary of the Comte de Serizy he heard of Madame Husson's pitiable condition, and he was able, before his own marriage, to get her an appointment as head-waiting-woman to Madame Mere, the Emperor's mother. But in spite of that powerful protection Clapart was never promoted; his incapacity was too apparent.
It was, indeed, from heart to heart that I spoke of you to Madame Clapart. As for my wife, I have never said one word of these things " "Enough," said the count, whose conviction was now complete; "we are not children. All is now irrevocable. Put your affairs and mine in order. You can stay in the pavilion until October.
Clapart, who heard the opening of many windows, looked out himself to see what was happening. "They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise," he cried, in a tone of satisfaction, though in truth he felt inwardly uneasy. "Good heavens! what can have happened to him?" cried the poor mother, trembling like a leaf shaken by the autumn wind. Brochon here came up, followed by Oscar and Poiret.
Last September she married her niece, Mademoiselle du Rouvre, on whom, since the death of her son, she spends all her affection, to a very rich young Pole, the Comte Laginski." "To whom," asked Madame Clapart, "will Monsieur de Serizy's property go?" "To his wife, who will bury him," replied Georges. "The countess is still fine-looking for a woman of fifty-four years of age.
But as for me, it is another thing. I shall be of age in a few months; and you have no rights over me even as a minor. I have never asked anything of you. Thanks to Monsieur Moreau, I have never cost you one penny, and I owe you no gratitude. Therefore, I say, let me alone!" Clapart, hearing this apostrophe, slunk back to his sofa in the chimney corner.
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