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Updated: May 3, 2025
It was not an ordinary post-chaise, but a very large, clumsy vehicle, having room to seat four, and a small coupe in front. I looked at it for a minute or two, when up the hill came M. d'Anquetil, with Jahel, carrying several parcels under her cloak and wearing a mob-cap. M. Coignard followed them, loaded with five or six books wrapped up in an old thesis.
Unluckily he rose quickly, and, arming himself with a still burning torch, jumped into the passage, where bad luck awaited him. My good master was no longer there; he had taken to his heels. But M. d'Anquetil was still there with Catherine, and he it was who received the burning torch on his forehead, an outrage he could not stand.
The little postboy who had been taken out from the midst of the horses said: "As to the spring, that could be mended by a strong piece of wood. It will only make the carriage shake you more. But there is the broken wheel! And, worst of all, my hat is under it, smashed to pieces." "Damn your hat!" said M. d'Anquetil.
Supper hardly over, M. d'Anquetil took Jahel with him to his room, which was next to mine. You may believe that I could not enjoy a wink of sleep. Jumping out of bed at daybreak, I left my chamber of torture. I seated myself under the waggoner's porch, where the postboys drank white wine and played the deuce with the servants. I remained there two or three hours contemplating my misery.
In Italy, during the War of Succession, I was under the orders of a brigadier who translated Polybius. But he was an idiot. Why translate Zosimus?" "If you want my true reason," replied the abbe, "because I find some sensuality in it." "That's something like!" protested M. d'Anquetil. "But in what can M. Tournebroche, who at this moment is caressing my mistress, assist you?"
And now she began to squeak and squeal, and M d'Anquetil left his servants, came up to us, and pushed her into the house, calling her a cheat and a rake, went into the passage behind her, and slammed the door in my face. In the Library with M. Jerome Coignard A Conversation on Morals Taken to M. d'Asterac's Study Salamanders again The Solar Powder A Visit and its Consequences.
M. d'Anquetil invited us to be seated, and my good master tied his napkin round his throat. He already had a thrush on his fork when heart-rending sobs were to be heard. "Don't take any notice of yonder noise," said M. d'Anquetil, "it's only Catherine, whom I have locked in that room."
M. d'Anquetil passed him the demijohn and exclaimed: "By gad! abbe, you who belong to the Church, you'll tell us why women love Capuchins." M. Coignard wiped his lips and said: "The reason is that Capuchins love humbly, and never refuse anything. Another reason is that neither reflection nor courtesy weakens their natural instincts. Sir, yours is a generous wine."
M. d'Anquetil had nothing against the abbe's proposal, and so we resolved in front of the Triton, who blew the water out of his fat cheeks, to go first to the Cross of the Sablons, and to hire, later on, at the Red Horse hotel, a travelling coach for our journey to Lyons.
You should know that my only liking is for M. Jacques." "She jests," said M. d'Anquetil. "Do not doubt of it," said I. "It is quite evident that she loves you, and you alone." "Without flattering myself," he replied, "I have somehow attracted her attachment. But she is coquettish and fickle." "Give me something to drink," said the abbe.
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