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Updated: June 11, 2025
It is as difficult for towns and cities as it is for commercial houses to recover from ruin. Nothing is left to us of the old Provins but the fragrance of our historical glory and that of our roses, and a sub-prefecture!" "Ah! what mightn't France be if she had only preserved her feudal capitals!" said Desfondrilles.
Monsieur Desfondrilles is still archaeological, but, in order to compass his own election, the procureur general Vinet took pains to have him appointed president of the Provins court. Sylvie has a little circle, and manages her brother's property; she lends her own money at high interest, and does not spend more than twelve hundred francs a year.
From time to time, when some former son or daughter of Provins returns from Paris to settle down, you may hear them ask, as they leave Mademoiselle Rogron's house, "Wasn't there a painful story against the Rogrons, something about a ward?" "Mere prejudice," replies Monsieur Desfondrilles. "Certain persons tried to make us believe falsehoods.
The deputy-judge and archaeologist Desfondrilles belonged to neither party. With other independents like him, he repeated what he heard on both sides and Vinet made the most of it.
"She seemed well enough in your arms," Sylvie said to him in a low voice, with a savage smile. "The colonel is right," said Madame de Chargeboeuf. "You ought to send for a doctor. This morning at church every one was speaking, as they came out, of Mademoiselle Lorrain's appearance." "I am dying," said Pierrette. Desfondrilles called to Sylvie and told her to unfasten her cousin's gown.
"Ah! if anything of that kind happens to Provins," said Monsieur Desfondrilles, "let us hope that somewhere in the Upper or Lower town they will set up a bas-relief of the head of Monsieur Opoix, the re-discoverer of the mineral waters of Provins." "My dear friend, the revival of Provins is impossible," replied Monsieur Martener; "the town was made bankrupt long ago."
"And have you only just answered the letter, mademoiselle?" asked the notary. Sylvie turned as red as a live coal. "We wrote to the Institution of Saint-Jacques," remarked Rogron. "That is a sort of hospital or almshouse for old people," said Monsieur Desfondrilles, who knew Nantes. "She can't be there; they receive no one under sixty." "She is there, with her grandmother Lorrain," said Rogron.
Monsieur Desfondrilles is still archaeological, but, in order to compass his own election, the procureur general Vinet took pains to have him appointed president of the Provins court. Sylvie has a little circle, and manages her brother's property; she lends her own money at high interest, and does not spend more than twelve hundred francs a year.
"Good! I'm glad of it," cried Sylvie, as they heard the blow. "She must be hurt," said Desfondrilles. "She deserves it," replied Sylvie. "It was a bad blow," said Mademoiselle Habert. Sylvie thought she might escape paying her misere if she went to see after Pierrette, but Madame de Chargeboeuf stopped her. "Pay us first," she said, laughing; "you will forget it when you come back."
Pierrette being dead the suit about the guardianship fell, of course, to the ground. All the astute lawyer wanted was the effect produced by his request. At midday Monsieur Desfondrilles made his report on the case, and the court rendered a decision that there was no ground for further action. Rogron dared not go to Pierrette's funeral, at which the whole town was present.
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