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Tell me, Robert, how many really well-made women have you ever seen? Just reckon them up on your fingers. Yes, there are heaps of women who won't show their shoulders or anything. Take Fagette; she won't let even women see her undress; when she puts a clean chemise on she holds the old one between her teeth. Sure enough, I should do the same if I were built as she is!"
"If he's in love with her, he hasn't been so long. Only a fortnight ago he asked me, in the theatre, 'Who is that little fair-haired woman? and he pointed to Fagette." "I cannot understand," said the chronicler of an evening paper to a chronicler of a morning paper, "what can be the origin of our mania for calumniating humanity.
Socrates, Constantin Marc, a few journalists and a few inquisitive onlookers followed. The clergy and the actresses took their seats in the mourning coaches. Nanteuil, disregarding Madame Doulce's advice, followed with Fagette, in a hired coupé. The weather was fine. Behind the hearse the mourners were conversing in familiar fashion. "The cemetery is the devil of a way!" "Montparnasse?
They were all there, Madame Ravaud, Madame Doulce, Ellen Midi, Duvernet, Herschell, Falempin, Stella, Marie-Claire, Louise Dalle, Fagette, Nanteuil, kneeling, robed in black, like elegiac figures. Some of the women were reading their missals. Some were weeping.
He ought to have seen Fagette; he would soon have discovered whether it was easy to get anything out of her in the domain how did he express it? of physical and moral sensibility." And she added with gentle pride: "Don't you make any mistake, Robert, there's not such a heap of women like myself." As he was drawing her into his arms, she released herself. "You are hindering me."
Nevertheless, Fagette was doing her best to take Ligny away from her friend; not from inclination, for she was insensible as a stick and held men in contempt, but with the idea that a liaison with a diplomatist would procure her certain advantages, and above all, in order not to miss the opportunity of doing something scandalous. Nanteuil was aware of this.
Great tragedy parts, if they are to produce their true effect, ought to be played by a comedian, but he must have a soul." The poor fellow actually thought that he had imagined a new form of art. 'You'll see, he said." At the corner of the Boulevard Saint-Michel, a journalist came up to Meunier, and asked him: "Is it true that Robert de Ligny was at one time madly in love with Fagette?"
Unfastening her cloak with its pathetic lining of old rabbit-skin, she produced a small dog's-eared book. "They are Madame de Sévigné's letters," she said. "You know that next Sunday I am going to give a reading of the best of Madame de Sévigné's letters." "Where?" asked Fagette. "Salle Renard." It must have been some remote and little known hall, for Nanteuil and Fagette had not heard of it.
Fagette, my child, what the mischief are you doing at a ball given by the Minister of Police, if you haven't any stockings with golden clocks? Take off those knitted woollen stockings immediately. This is the very last play that I shall produce in this theatre. Where is the colonel of the 10th cohort? So it's you? Well then, my friend, your soldiers march past like so many pigs.
Meanwhile Durville continued hoarsely: "If our France can be saved only at the price of our life and honour, I shall say, with the man of '93: 'Perish our memory!" Fagette pointed her finger at a bloated youth, who was sitting in the orchestra, resting his chin on his walking-stick. "Isn't that Baron Deutz?" "Need you ask!" replied Nanteuil. "Ellen Midi is in the cast.
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