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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Have you done, dear?" he asks, profiting by an instant in which she tosses her head after a pointed interrogation. Then Caroline concludes thus: "I've had enough of the villa, and I'll never set foot in it again. But I know what will happen: you'll keep it, probably, and leave me in Paris. Well, at Paris, I can at least amuse myself, while you go with Madame de Fischtaminel to the woods.
With these arguments, a marriage, without stooping, with the Count de Fischtaminel, his having thirty thousand a year, and a home at Paris you were strongly armed against your poor daughter.
The next day she asks you, with a charming air of interest, "How are you coming on with Madame de Fischtaminel?" When you go out, she says: "Go and drink something calming, my dear." For, in their anger with a rival, all women, duchesses even, will use invectives, and even venture into the domain of Billingsgate; they make an offensive weapon of anything and everything.
Caroline pets Madame de Fischtaminel with all the tenderness that the African army is now bestowing upon Abd-el-Kader: she is as solicitous in her behalf as a physician is anxious to avoid curing a rich hypochondriac. Between the two, Caroline and Madame de Fischtaminel invent occupations for dear Adolphe, when neither of them desire the presence of that demigod among their penates.
"Oh! you monster, I understand you: you were angry so as to make me believe you loved me!" Alas! let us confess it, Adolphe tells the truth in the only way he can by a laugh. "Why give me pain?" she says. To please you, I will use an expression of the fair Fischtaminel, 'It's not the act of a gentleman!"
You delivered me from all care on that point, and I thank heaven for it every day of my life." Madame de Fischtaminel has called to pay Madame Caroline a visit. She finds her coughing feebly and nearly bent double over her embroidery. "Ah, so you are working those slippers for your dear Adolphe?" Adolphe is standing before the fire-place as complacently as may be.
Madame de has told her young friend, Madame de Fischtaminel, that she had been compelled to make an extraordinary confession to her spiritual director, and to perform penance, the director having decided that she was in a state of mortal sin. This lady, who goes to mass every morning, is a woman of thirty-six years, thin and slightly pimpled.
"Why, that fat man, dressed like a waiter in a cafe, frizzled like a barber's apprentice, there, he's trying now to make himself agreeable to Madame de Fischtaminel." "Hush," whispers the lady quite alarmed, "it's the husband of the little woman next to me!" "Ah, it's your husband?" says Monsieur Foullepointe. "I am delighted, madame, he's a charming man, so vivacious, gay and witty.
Madame de has told her young friend, Madame de Fischtaminel, that she had been compelled to make an extraordinary confession to her spiritual director, and to perform penance, the director having decided that she was in a state of mortal sin. This lady, who goes to mass every morning, is a woman of thirty-six years, thin and slightly pimpled.
"Madame," Justine one day observes, "monsieur really does go out to see a woman." Caroline turns pale. "But don't be alarmed, madame, it's an old woman." "Ah, Justine, to some men no women are old: men are inexplicable." "But, madame, it isn't a lady, it's a woman, quite a common woman." "Ah, Justine, Lord Byron loved a fish-wife at Venice, Madame de Fischtaminel told me so."
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