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Updated: June 20, 2025
The difference between Josepha's house and that in the Rue Barbet was just that between the individual stamp on things and commonness. The objects you admired at Crevel's were to be bought in any shop. These two types of luxury are divided by the river Million. A mirror, if unique, is worth six thousand francs; a mirror designed by a manufacturer who turns them out by the dozen costs five hundred.
That boy serves as a weather-glass to show me if you love me and you don't love me this morning." "I don't love you, Valerie?" cried Crevel. "I love you as much as a million." "That is not nearly enough!" cried she, jumping on to Crevel's knee, and throwing both arms round his neck as if it were a peg to hang on by.
"You will believe them, and I can thank God for that, for then perhaps you will not regret me." "He will not die a second-class clerk!" said Marneffe to Hulot, as he led his wife away, saying roughly, "Come, madame; if I am foolish to you, I do not choose to be a fool to others." Valerie left the house, Crevel's Eden, with a last glance at the Baron, so cunning that he thought she adored him.
The younger Hulot had purchased this fine property, on the strength of Mademoiselle Crevel's marriage-portion, for one million francs, when it was put up to auction, paying five hundred thousand down.
Save a whole family from ruin, shame, despair; keep it from falling into a bog where the quicksands are mingled with blood! Oh! ask for no explanations," she exclaimed, at a movement on Crevel's part, who was about to speak. "Above all, do not say to me, 'I told you so! like a friend who is glad at a misfortune.
I have heard him talked about, and know his name. You are nicknamed Combabus, because you love but one woman, and in Paris, that is the same as loving no one at all. And is it by chance the object of your affections who is fretting you? Madame Marneffe, Crevel's woman? I tell you what, my dear sir, you may bless your stars instead of cursing them.
Crevel, a tradesman and shopkeeper to the backbone, though a mayor of Paris, unluckily, was a little slower to move than his rival partner, and this enabled the Baron to read at a glance Crevel's involuntary self-betrayal. This was a fresh arrow to rankle in the very amorous old man's heart, and he resolved to have an explanation from Valerie.
In the course of three years ambition had altered Crevel's pretensions. Like all great artists, he had come to his second manner.
"You will believe them, and I can thank God for that, for then perhaps you will not regret me." "He will not die a second-class clerk!" said Marneffe to Hulot, as he led his wife away, saying roughly, "Come, madame; if I am foolish to you, I do not choose to be a fool to others." Valerie left the house, Crevel's Eden, with a last glance at the Baron, so cunning that he thought she adored him.
Well, the sensation to which the Councillor of State was a victim at five in the morning in Crevel's handsome and elegant bed, was immeasurably worse than that of feeling himself bound to the fatal block in the presence of ten thousand spectators looking at you with twenty thousand sparks of fire. Valerie was asleep in a graceful attitude.
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