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Updated: June 20, 2025
Who will bring up my children? Who will take care of them? Who will love them? No, I don't want to! I don't " She fell back. All was over. The dog, wild with excitement, jumped about the room, barking. Colombel ran to the window, calling his brother-in-law: "Hurry up, hurry up! I think that she has just gone." Then Cimme, resigned, arose and entered the room, mumbling
And Colombel followed them, limping, once more leaving the dying woman alone. When they were relieved of their travelling garments, the women finally sat down. Then one of the cats left its window, stretched, jumped into the room and on to Mme. Cimme's knees. She began to pet it.
And Colombel followed them, limping, once more leaving the dying woman alone. When they were relieved of their travelling garments, the women finally sat down. Then one of the cats left its window, stretched, jumped into the room and on to Mme. Cimme's knees. She began to pet it.
Her sister sighed without answering, and Colombel mumbled, thinking perhaps of the walk ahead of him: "My leg certainly is bothering me to-day:" Little Joseph and the dog were making a terrible noise; one was shrieking with pleasure, the other was barking wildly. They were playing hide-and-seek around the three flower beds, running after each other like mad.
As soon as he had tasted the wine, Colombel, for whom only the best of Bordeaux had been prescribed, called the servant back: "I say, my girl, is this the best stuff that you have in the cellar?" "No, monsieur; there is some better wine, which was only brought out when you came." "Well, bring us three bottles of it."
Colombel, who was continually lifting his tired leg from place to place, muttered: "She is dreaming that she has children and a husband; it is the beginning of the death agony." The two sisters had not yet moved, surprised, astounded. The little maid exclaimed: "You must take off your shawls and your hits! Would you like to go into the parlor?" They went out without having said a word.
But no one dared to enter the dying woman's room on the ground floor. Even Cimme made way for the others. Colombel was the first to make up his mind, and, swaying from side to side like the mast of a ship, the iron ferule of his cane clattering on the paved hall, he entered. The two women were the next to venture, and M. Cimmes closed the procession.
Cimme began to laugh, looked at his wife and hummed in a teasing way: "Tra-la-la, tra-la-la" as though to cast a good deal of doubt on his own, Cimme's, faithfulness: Colombel was suffering from cramps and was rapping the floor with his cane. The other cat, its tail pointing upright to the sky, now came in. They sat down to luncheon at one o'clock.
They tasted the wine and found it excellent, not because it was of a remarkable vintage, but because it had been in the cellar fifteen years. Cimme declared: "That is regular invalid's wine." Colombel, filled with an ardent desire to gain possession of this Bordeaux, once more questioned the girl: "How much of it is left?" "Oh! Almost all, monsieur; mamz'elle never touched it.
Colombel then asked: "Wouldn't it be better if we were to return to her?" But Cimme dissuaded her from the idea: "What's the use? You can't change anything. We are just as comfortable here." Nobody insisted. Mme. Cimme observed the two green birds called love-birds. In a few words she praised this singular faithfulness and blamed the men for not imitating these animals.
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