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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Didn't I tell you so, hey?" said Clapart, appearing like a spectre at the door of the salon whither his curiosity had brought him. "Oh! what shall we do with him?" said Madame Clapart, whose grief made her impervious to Clapart's taunt.
You have undoubtedly spoken of my infirmities to Madame Clapart; you have laughed at her house, and with her, over my attachment to the Comtesse de Serizy; for her son, little Husson, told a number of circumstances relating to my medical treatment, to travellers by a public conveyance in my presence, and Heaven knows in what language! He dared to calumniate my wife.
To bourgeois eyes, the obtaining of school prizes means the certainty of a fine future for the fortunate child. "Did you win any?" asked his wife. "Oscar stood second in philosophy." This remark imposed silence for a moment on Clapart; but presently he began again. "Besides, Madame Moreau hates him like poison, you know why. She'll try to set her husband against him.
How he will enjoy that fine house and the beautiful park." "Oh! yes," snarled Clapart, "you expect fine things of him; but, mark my words, there'll be squabbles wherever he goes." "Will you never cease to find fault with that poor child?" said the mother. "What has he done to you? If some day we should live at our ease, we may owe it all to him; he has such a good heart "
"Our bones will be jelly long before that fellow makes his way in the world," cried Clapart. "You don't know your own child; he is conceited, boastful, deceitful, lazy, incapable of " "Why don't you go to meet Poiret?" said the poor mother, struck to the heart by the diatribe she had brought upon herself. "A boy who has never won a prize at school!" continued Clapart.
When she came to herself she heard her husband saying to Oscar, as he shook him by the arm: "Will you answer me?" "Go to bed, monsieur," she said to her son. "Let him alone, Monsieur Clapart. Don't drive him out of his senses; he is frightfully changed." Oscar did not hear his mother's last words; he had slipped away to bed the instant that he got the order.
"Monsieur," said old Cardot's maid-servant, coming out to him as he walked about the garden while awaiting his breakfast, after his hairdresser had duly shaved him and powdered his queue, "the mother of your nephew, Oscar, is here." "Good-day, fair lady," said the old man, bowing to Madame Clapart, and wrapping his white pique dressing-gown about him.
Some fine morning you'll find yourself with a load of debt on your back." "You are always trying to put me in despair!" cried Madame Clapart. "You complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he cost you a penny.
"Well, Madame," Clapart would say, "Oscar is doing better than I even hoped. That journey to Presles was only a heedlessness of youth. Where can you find young lads who do not commit just such faults? Poor child! he bears his privations heroically! If his father had lived, he would never have had any. God grant he may know how to control his passions!" etc., etc.
But let me tell you, monseigneur, that in talking of you with Madame Clapart, it was never in derision; but, on the contrary, to deplore your state, and to ask her for certain remedies, not used by physicians, but known to the common people. Alas! fate wills that indiscretions be punished like crimes. But while accepting the results of your just anger, I wish you to know what actually took place.
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