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Updated: May 16, 2025
Two or three times she heard some one near her whisper, "That is Madame Fromont Jeune," and, indeed, it was a simple matter for people to make the mistake, seeing the three return together from the station, Sidonie sitting beside Georges on the back seat, laughing and talking with him, and Risler facing them, smiling contentedly with his broad hands spread flat upon his knees, but evidently feeling a little out of place in that fine carriage.
The money your wife has wormed out of the wretched Fromont, the house at Asnieres, the diamonds and all the rest is invested in her name, of course, out of reach of disaster; and of course you can retire from business now."
The two great lamps in the salon are lighted. In the adjoining room they hear the servant laying the table. It is all over. Madame Fromont Jeune will not come. Sidonie is pale with rage. "Just fancy, that minx can't come up eighteen steps! No doubt Madame thinks we're not grand enough for her. Ah! but I'll have my revenge."
She made an effort to prevent any of those horrible periods of silence, when the clashing knives and forks mark time in such an absurd and embarrassing way. As soon as breakfast was at an end Fromont Jeune announced that he must return to Savigny.
One night, near the end of January, old Sigismond Planus, cashier of the house of Fromont Jeune and Risler Aine, was awakened with a start in his little house at Montrouge by the same teasing voice, the same rattling of chains, followed by that fatal cry: "The notes!" "That is true," thought the worthy man, sitting up in bed; "day after to- morrow will be the last day of the month.
Fromont Jeune had come in person, six months before, to collect the balance in their hands. Sigismond felt that his strength was going. But he summoned courage to say: "Ah! yes; true. I had forgotten. Sigismond Planus is growing old, that is plain. I am failing, my children, I am failing."
The old man's face flushed, and he said in a grave voice, taking his sister's hand: "Mademoiselle Planus, my sister, I ask your pardon for having made you take this step; but the honor of the house of Fromont was at stake." From that moment Sigismond became more and more depressed. His cash-box no longer seemed to him safe or secure.
He resorts to this mode of address to avoid the more familiar form, which is so offensive to her. "No, I am not going to make calls," Sidonie replies with a certain pride. "On the contrary, I expect to receive them. This is my day." In response to her husband's astounded, bewildered expression she continues: "Why, yes, this is my day. Madame Fromont has one; I can have one also, I fancy."
He protested that his mind was quite made up, and that he had been guaranteed by Parma not only the post which he now held, but even still farther advancement. De Fromont reminded him, in reply, of the frequent revolutions of fortune's wheel, and warned him that the advancement of which he boasted would probably be an entire degradation.
It seemed to him that he had paid a debt, by giving the house of Fromont the benefit of a new machine, which would lessen the labor, shorten the hours of the workmen, and at the same time double the profits and the reputation of the factory. He indulged in beautiful dreams as he plodded along. His footsteps rang out proudly, emphasized by the resolute and happy trend of his thoughts.
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