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Updated: July 10, 2025
In the distant Grandissime mansion, Agricola Fusilier was casting about for ways and means to rid himself of the heaviest heart that ever had throbbed in his bosom. He had risen at sunrise from slumber worse than sleeplessness, in which his dreams had anticipated the duel of to-morrow with Sylvestre.
Frowenfeld's thoughts were still on the same theme when, the day having passed, the hour was approaching wherein Innerarity was exhorted to tell his good-night story in the merry circle at the distant Grandissime mansion. As the apothecary was closing his last door for the night, the fairer Honoré called him out into the moonlight.
"Alas! my brother!" said Madame Grandissime, and started forward, followed by the other women. "Wait," said Honoré, and they paused. "Charlie," he said, as the little doctor persistently pushed by him at the head of the stair. "Oh, there's no chance, Honoré, you'd as well all go in there." They gathered into the room and about the bed. Madame Grandissime bent over it.
M. Grandissime smiled softly, while he said to himself: "You little honey-bee, you want to sting me, eh?" and then he answered her question. "No, madame; I am the gentleman you are looking for." "The gentleman she was look " her pride resented the fact. "Me!" thought she "I am the lady whom, I have not a doubt, you have been longing to meet ever since the ball;" but her look was unmoved gravity.
As they wheeled out of the broad diagonal path that crossed the square, and turned toward him in the highway, he fancied that the Creole observed him. He was not mistaken. As they seemed about to pass the spot where he sat, M. Grandissime interrupted the governor with a word and, turning his horse's head, rode up to the bench, lifting his hat as he came. "Good-evening, Mr. Frowenfeld."
The family carriage was already coming round the bottom of the front stairs for three Mesdames Grandissime and Madame Martinez. The children on all sides had dropped their play, and stood about, hushed and staring. The servants moved with quiet rapidity. In the hall he was stopped by two beautiful girls. "Raoul! Oh, Raoul, how is he now? Oh! Raoul, if you could only stop them!
Sir, will you do that? I have the honor to remain, sir, Very respectfully, your obedient servant, H. Grandissime. Frowenfeld slowly transferred his gaze from the paper to his landlord's face.
It may not be premature to add that about four weeks later Honoré Grandissime, upon Raoul's announcement that he was "betrothed," purchased this painting and presented it to a club of natural connoisseurs. The accident of the ladies Nancanou making their new home over Frowenfeld's drug-store occurred in the following rather amusing way.
The floor of the store below, the pavement of the corridor where stood the idle volante, were covered with straw, and servants came and went by the beckoning of the hand. "This way," whispered a guide of the four ladies from the Grandissime mansion.
"Ah!" retorted Aurore, "par example! Non? Ee thingue we is ridge, eh? Ligue his oncle, eh? Ee thing so, too, eh?" She cast upon her daughter the look of burning scorn intended for Agricola Fusilier. "You wan' to tague the pard of dose Grandissime'?" The daughter returned a look of agony. "No," she said, "bud a man wad godd some 'ouses to rend, muz ee nod boun' to ged 'is rend?"
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