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Updated: May 4, 2025
Then off she ran after her father, who had only changed one carnation for another. They went on toward St. Sulpice M. Flamaran on the right, M. Charnot in the middle, Jeanne on the left. She brushed past without seeing me. I followed them at a distance. All three were laughing. At what? I can guess; she because she was eighteen, they for joy to be with her.
But the happiest, the most radiant, next to ourselves, were the people who came only for Jeanne's sake and mine; Sylvestre Lampron, painter-in- ordinary to Mademoiselle Charnot, bringing his pretty sketch as a wedding-present; M. Flamaran and Sidonie; Jupille, who wept as he used to "thirty years ago;" and M. and Madame Plumet, who took it in turns to carry their white-robed infant.
Do you think you're too young to marry?" "No." "Do you fancy, perhaps, that she is still bound by that unfortunate engagement?" "I trust she is not." "I'm quite sure she is not. She is free, I tell you, as free as you. Well, why don't you love her?" "But I do love her, Monsieur Flamaran!" "Why, then, I congratulate you, my boy!" He leaned across the table and gave me a hearty grasp of the hand.
My friend Flamaran had to tell me that I was to be seen at the last Salon, together with my daughter, sitting on a tree-trunk in the forest of Saint-Germain. Is it true, Monsieur, that you drew me sitting on a trunk?" "Quite true." "That's a trifle too rustic for a man who does not go outside of Paris three times a year. And my daughter you drew in profile a good likeness, I believe."
And I won't be refused no, damme, I won't!" He brought down his fist upon the table with a tremendous blow which made the glasses ring and the decanters stagger. "Coming!" cried a waiter from below, thinking he was summoned. "All right, my good fellow!" shouted M. Flamaran, leaning over the railings. "Don't trouble. I don't want anything."
"I suppose so." "Better pleased than you." "That's very likely." "He might easily be that. Upon my word I can't understand you. These two years you have been working like a gang of niggers for your degree, and now you have got it you don't seem to care a bit. You have won a smile from Flamaran and do not consider yourself a spoiled child of Fortune! What more did you want?
I owed my introduction to Jeanne to Monsieur Flamaran, who drove me to call on her father; his friend; you courted her for me by painting her portrait; Madame Plumet told her you had done so, and also removed the obstacle in my path. I met her in Italy, thanks entirely to you; and you clinched the proposal which had been begun by Flamaran.
Three cheers were given, followed by clapping of hands from various quarters, then all was silence, and no one took any further notice of our tree. M. Flamaran left the railing and unfolded his napkin. "You may be sure of my white marks, young men," he said, as he sat down. He was delighted at his success as an orator, and laughed gayly.
He flung me a look full of tragedy and went on his way. Well, well; go your way, M. Charnot! One doesn't offer apologies to a man in his wrath. You shall have them by-and-bye, when we meet again. December 28, 1884. This afternoon I paid M. Flamaran a visit. I had been thinking about it for the last week, as I wanted him to help my Junian Latins out of a mess.
You understand me when I say adoptive. I do not mean that there exists between us that legal bond in imitation of nature which is permitted by our codes 'adoptio imitatur naturam'; not that, but that I love her like a daughter Sidonie never having presented me with a daughter, nor with a son either, for that matter." A cry from Jupille interrupted M. Flamaran: "Can't you hear it rattle?"
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