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Updated: June 3, 2025
When Lenglet Dufresnoy was compiling, in 1751, his Dissertations sur les Apparitions he reprinted the tract from the Paris quarto of 1528, in black letter. This example had been in the Tellier collection, and Dufresnoy seems to have borrowed it from the Royal Convent of St. Genevieve.
Such was my first meeting with Hortense Dufresnoy. No incident of it has since faded from my memory. Brief as it was, it had already turned all the current of my life. I had fallen in love at first sight. Yes in love; for love it was real, passionate, earnest; a love destined to be the master-passion of all my future years. See, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so!
From certain books I have begun to make extracts concerning the places I am likely to visit: Metlaoui, the Djerid oases, and the Chott country. Dufresnoy is essentially a mining engineer.
I should be sorry to say how long the train takes to crawl through the thirty odd kilometres that separate Gafsa from Metlaoui. My companion on the trip, M. Dufresnoy, tells me that the return journey is still slower, because the line runs mostly uphill and the trucks, thirty or forty of them, are loaded with minerals.
"If you go to Gafsa," he resumed, " if you really propose going to Gafsa, pray let me give you a card to a friend of mine, who lives there with his family and may be useful to you. No trouble, I assure you!" He scribbled a few lines, addressed to "Monsieur Paul Dufresnoy, Engineer," for which I thanked him. "We all know each other in Africa," he said. "It's quite a small place our Africa, I mean.
Meanwhile, if truth is found useful for the moment, it is due to the humanizing work of those quiet investigators like Philippe Thomas to the men who have armed their country for the heroic task of cleansing the Augean stables. Monsieur Dufresnoy had never met the phosphate discoverer, but another gentleman described him as follows: "He is a simple fellow, and the devil for work.
"Me? For Heaven's sake, speak plainly. I do not understand you. Has has anything been discovered?" "Yes it has been discovered at the Académie Française that Mademoiselle Hortense Dufresnoy has written the best poem on Thermopylæ." She drew a deep breath, pressed her hands tightly together, and murmured: "Alas! is that all?" "All!
At the sight of this doorway I paused it was grim, claustral, almost menacing; there was an air of enchantment about the mansion, as if once in a hundred years its forbidding portals might turn on their rusty hinges. Finally, I fled away altogether, in a kind of godly panic. M. Dufresnoy, on his way homewards, almost ran into me.
And still, without encouragement or nope, I went on loving Hortense Dufresnoy. My opportunities of seeing her were few and brief. A passing bow in the hall, or a distant "good-evening" as we passed upon the stairs, for some time made up the sum of our intercourse.
The cold being past all endurance and belief, I was tempted to fulfil my promise and call upon Monsieur Dufresnoy. What kind of man was this that managed to survive it? They led me to his house, which is one of the few two-storied buildings of the town and lies in a squalid street of mud-dwellings.
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