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Updated: June 24, 2025
He shuddered all over. An unspeakable expression of suffering and anguish contracted his features; and, speaking in a scarcely intelligible voice: "Ah! you are cruelly protracting my agony," he stammered. "What do you ask of me?" "You must fly," declared M. Desclavettes. "Which way? How? Do you not think that every precaution has been taken, that every issue is closely watched?"
The cashier's home had resumed its habits of before the war, its drowsy monotony scarcely disturbed by the Saturday dinner, by M. Desclavettes' naivetes or old Desormeaux's puns. Maxence, in the mean time, had ceased to live with his parents.
We are but children by the side of them." It was through M. Chapelain, the Desclavettes, and old Desormeaux, that these news reached the Rue St. Gilles. It was also through Maxence, whose battalion had been dissolved, and who, whilst waiting for something better, had accepted a clerkship in the office of the Orleans Railway, where he earned two hundred francs a month.
M. Desclavettes would have been glad to add something to the forty-five thousand francs he had just lost, to be, together with Mme. Desclavettes, a hundred miles away. "Where is Mme. Favoral?" resumed the commissary, evidently well informed. "Where are Mlle. Gilberte and M. Maxence Favoral?" They continued silent.
He recommended his wife to be careful of her dress and of that of the children, and re-engaged a servant. He expressed the wish of enlarging their circle of acquaintances, and inaugurated his Saturday dinners, to which came assiduously, M. and Mme. Desclavettes, M. Chapelain the attorney, the old man Desormeaux, and a few others.
And purple with shame: "Your suspicions would vanish at once, sir," she said to the commissary, "if I could but explain to you our mode of life." Encouraged by his first discovery, he was proceeding more minutely with his perquisitions, undoing the strings of every bundle. "It is useless, madame," he answered in that brief tone which made so much impression upon M. Desclavettes.
In spite of which his vanity seemed highly gratified, when on Saturday evenings, after dinner, Mlle. Gilberte sat at the piano, and Mme. Desclavettes, suppressing a yawn, would exclaim, "What remarkable talent the dear child has!" The young girl had, then, a positive influence; and it was to her entreaties alone, and not to those of his wife, that he had several times forgiven Maxence.
But they are rich: one of them owns three houses in Paris, and the other has a good situation; whereas I, these hundred and twenty thousand francs gone, I'd have nothing left but my eyes to weep with. My wife is dying about it. I assure you our position is a terrible one." To M. Desclavettes, as to the baker a few moments before, "We have nothing," said Maxence.
He seemed much surprised at this outburst of violence. "Why so?" he answered. "In Vincent's place, I should not have hesitated to do what he has certainly done. And I am an honest man too. I was in business for twenty years; and I dare any one to prove that a note signed Desclavettes ever went to protest.
"That is all," continued the shop-keeper, "or rather, excuse me, no: every Saturday, for many years, M. and Mme. Favoral receive a few of their friends: M. and Mme. Desclavettes, retired dealers in bronzes, Rue Turenne; M. Chapelain, the old lawyer from the Rue St. Antoine, whose daughter is Mlle.
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