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Updated: May 4, 2025
At the end of the marketplace they turned to the left, followed the railings of the church, and bent their steps toward the Rue St. Sulpice, doubtless to take home M. Flamaran, whose cineraria blazed amid the crowd. I was about to turn in the same direction when an omnibus of the Batignolles-Clichy line stopped my way.
I saw M. Charnot get up, approach him, and hold out his hand. "I did not wish you to say anything else, Monsieur; that is enough for me. Flamaran asked my daughter's hand for your friend only this morning. Flamaran loses no time when charged with a commission. He, too, told me much that was good of your friend. I also questioned Counsellor Boule.
My examinations have been passed meritoriously, but without brilliance; my tastes run too much after letters. My professor, M. Flamaran, once told me the truth of the matter: "Law, young man, is a jealous mistress; she allows no divided affection." Are my affections divided?
I tried to talk of her, but M. Flamaran insisted on talking of me, of Bourges, of his election as professor, and of the radically distinct characteristics by which you can tell the bite of a gudgeon from that of a stickleback. The latter part of this lecture was, however, purely theoretical, for he got up two hours before sunset without having hooked a fish. "A good day, all the same," he said.
The marriage had taken place at St. Galmier. "Yes, my dear Mouillard," he added, as if pointing a moral, "thirty years ago last May I became a happy man; when do you think of following my example?" At this point, Jupille suddenly found himself one too many, and vanished down the corkscrew stair. "We once spoke of an heiress at Bourges," M. Flamaran went on. "Apparently that's all off?"
You are quite right to love her, of course, of course I could not have understood your doing otherwise; but I must say this, my boy, that if you tarry too long, with her attractions, you know what will happen." "Yes, I ought to ask for her at once." "To be sure you ought." "Alas! Monsieur Flamaran, who is there that I can send on such a mission for me? You know that I am an orphan."
To escape from my embarrassment: "Sir," I said, "I came also to ask for a piece of information." "I am at your service, sir." "Monsieur Flamaran has probably written to you on the matter?" "Flamaran?" "Yes, three days ago." "I have received no letter; have I, Jeanne?" "No, father." "This is not the first time that my excellent colleague has promised to write a letter and has not written it.
"No, on the payment of debts!" "Oh, you naughty old man! You ought to be shut up!" M. Flamaran, though somewhat put out of countenance for the moment, was seized with a happy inspiration. He stretched out an arm to show that he was about to speak.
At the end of the marketplace they turned to the left, followed the railings of the church, and bent their steps toward the Rue St. Sulpice, doubtless to take home M. Flamaran, whose cineraria blazed amid the crowd. I was about to turn in the same direction when an omnibus of the Batignolles-Clichy line stopped my way.
"That I swear to, with all the pleasure in life!" "Really? I feared you had some ties." "Not one." "Or dislike for Paris." "No, Monsieur; only a preference for Paris, with freedom to indulge it. Your second condition?" "The second, to which my daughter and I both attach importance, is that you should make your peace with your uncle. Flamaran tells me you have quarrelled." "That is true."
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