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Updated: May 2, 2025
Above the Gerards, in one of the mansards upon the sixth floor, lived a printer named Combarieu, with his wife or mistress the concierge did not know which, nor did it matter much. The woman had just deserted him, leaving a child of eight years.
The little rogue let fly quite often some gutter expression, such as "Hang it!" or "Tol-derol-dol!" at which Madame Gerard would exclaim, "What do I hear, Mademoiselle?" but she was intelligent and soon corrected herself. One Sunday morning, Combarieu, having learned of their kindness to his child, made a visit to thank them.
Enlightened as to the artist's political preferences by the bowl of his pipe, Combarieu complacently eulogized himself. Upon his own admission he had at first been foolish enough to dream of a universal brotherhood, a holy alliance of the people.
He immediately inspired the engraver with respect, and dazzled him by the fascination which the audacious exert over the timid. M. Gerard thought he discerned in Combarieu one of those superior men whom a cruel fate had caused to be born among the lower class and in whom poverty had stifled genius.
Above the Gerards, in one of the mansards upon the sixth floor, lived a printer named Combarieu, with his wife or mistress the concierge did not know which, nor did it matter much. The woman had just deserted him, leaving a child of eight years.
"Yes! Do you not remember Rosine, little Rosine Combarieu, at Madame Gerard's, the engraver's wife, in the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs? We played games with his little girls. How odd it is, the way one meets old friends!" What is it that Amedee feels? His entire childhood rises before him.
I say, Pere Combarieu has a droll trade now; he is manager of a Republican journal nothing to do only a few months in prison now and then. I am always working in flowers, and I have a little friend, a pupil at Val-de-Grace, but he has just left as a medical officer for Algeria.
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