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Updated: June 28, 2025
Above the mound of rags rose a head like those that Charlet has given to his scavenger-women, caparisoned with a filthy bandanna handkerchief slit in the folds. "What is your name?" said Joseph, while Bixiou sketched her, leaning on an umbrella belonging to the year II. of the Republic. "Madame Gruget, at your service.
"If I am not yet in, give it to the porter and tell him to send it up to madame." "Do you want me to-morrow?" "No. Adieu." Jules drove at once to the place de la Rotonde du Temple, where he left his cabriolet and went on foot to the rue des Enfants-Rouges. He found the house of Madame Etienne Gruget and examined it.
"Hush, miserable woman!" replied Jules, putting his handkerchief on the mouth of the old woman, who began at once to cry out, "Murder! help!" At this instant Clemence entered, saw her husband, uttered a cry, and fled away. "Who will save my child?" cried the widow Gruget. "You have murdered her." "How?" asked Jules, mechanically, for he was horror-struck at being seen by his wife.
Yes, Madame Gruget, the nurse, told me he couldn't live through the day. What a stir there'll be! oh! won't there! Go along, you fellows, and see if the stoves are drawing properly. Heavens and earth! our world is coming down about our ears." "That poor young one," said Laurent, "had a sort of sunstroke when he heard that Jesuit of a Dutocq had got here before him."
Presently the cough of an old woman, and a heavy female step, shuffling painfully in list slippers, announced the coming of the mother of Ida Gruget. The creature opened the door and came out upon the landing, looked up, and said: "Ah! is this Monsieur Bocquillon? Why, no? But perhaps you're his brother. What can I do for you? Come in, monsieur."
If an empress was my rival, I'd go straight to her, empress as she was; because all pretty women are equals, monsieur " "Enough! enough!" said Jules. "Where do you live?" "Rue de la Corderie-du-Temple, number 14, monsieur, Ida Gruget, corset-maker, at your service, for we make lots of corsets for men." "Where does the man whom you call Ferragus live?"
Behind the apse of the chancel, lay the cemetery, enclosed with a dilapidated wall, a little field full of hillocks; no marble monuments, no visitors, but surely in every furrow, tears and true regrets, which were lacking to Ida Gruget. She was cast into a corner full of tall grass and brambles.
Above the mound of rags rose a head like those that Charlet has given to his scavenger-women, caparisoned with a filthy bandanna handkerchief slit in the folds. "What is your name?" said Joseph, while Bixiou sketched her, leaning on an umbrella belonging to the year II. of the Republic. "Madame Gruget, at your service.
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