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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Sir," said the tall Frenchman with the riband, eying the epicier with great disdain, "you say you are for the Restoration I am for the Empire Moi!" "No politics!" cried Mr. Love. "Let us adjourn to the salon." The Vicomte, who had seemed supremely ennuye during this dialogue, plucked Mr.
No; I'm for the Restoration;" and again the epicier perplexed himself to discover the association of idea between republicanism and sucre d'orge. "Another glass of wine. Come, another," said Mr. Love, stretching across the Vicomte to help Madame Canmartin.
"There is not a marriage in Paris that does me more credit," said Mr. Love; and he marched off to receive the compliments and congratulations that awaited him among such of the guests as were aware of his good offices. The Vicomte de Vaudemont was of course not present. He had not been near Mr. Love since Adele had accepted the epicier.
"This is Monsieur Lofe Anglais celebre. What have you to say against him?" "He has got five hundred francs of mine!" cried the epicier. The policeman scanned Mr. Love, with great attention. "So you are in Paris again? Hein! vous jouez toujours votre role! "Ma foi!" said Mr.
The evening advanced; and after several other dances of ceremony, Monsieur Goupille conceived himself entitled to dedicate one to connubial affection. A country-dance was called, and the epicier claimed the fair hand of the gentle Adele.
Coppée had striven to simplify language; he had versified the street cries, Achetez la France, le Soir, le Rappel; he had sought to give utterance to humble sentiments as in "Le Petit Epicier de Montrouge," the little grocer qui cassait le sucre avec mélancolie; Richepin had boldly and frankly adopted the language of the people in all its superb crudity.
Love, who, seeing himself in for it, suddenly jerked off the epicier, thrust his hands down into his breeches' pockets, buried his chin in his cravat, elevated his eyebrows, screwed in his eyes, and puffed out his cheeks, so that the astonished Monsieur Goupille really thought himself bewitched, and literally did not recognise the face of the match-maker.
"There is not a marriage in Paris that does me more credit," said Mr. Love; and he marched off to receive the compliments and congratulations that awaited him among such of the guests as were aware of his good offices. The Vicomte de Vaudemont was of course not present. He had not been near Mr. Love since Adele had accepted the epicier.
But in happier times, don't you think, Wilhelm, he would have remained just what his father was, a successful epicier, very clean, very accurate, very honest. And on holidays he would have gone out with Madame Leblanc and her knitting in a punt with a jar of something gentle and have sat under a large reasonable green-lined umbrella and fished very neatly and successfully for gudgeon....
"I do not quite understand, Alesha. Those gallant little boys! They are youth, and youth is always full of strangeness. Mr. Heritage! He is youth, too, and poetry, perhaps, and a soldier's tradition. I think I know him.... But what about Dickson? He is the PETIT BOURGEOIS, the EPICIER, the class which the world ridicules. He is unbelievable.
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