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Nodier turned over the leaves of the book for a few minutes, then pointed to the tapestry. "You see that tapestry?" "Yes." "Do you know what it represents?" "No." "John Lackland." "Well, what of it?" "John Lackland is also in this book." The volume, which was in sheep binding and worn at the corners, was indeed a copy of King John. M. Hemonin turned to Nodier and said: "I paid six sous for it."
In the middle of the ceremony, just before the King prostrated himself at the feet of the Archbishop, a Deputy for the Doubs department, named M. Hemonin, turned towards Nodier, who was close to him, and with his finger on his lips, as a sign that he did not wish to disturb the Archbishop's orisons by speaking, slipped something into my friend's hand. This something was a book.
One passes the evening as best one can in a provincial town on a coronation day when one doesn't go to the ball. We formed quite a little club. There was an academician, M. Roger; a man of letters, M. d'Eckstein; M. de Marcellus, friend and country neighbour of my father, who poked fun at his royalism and mine; good old Marquis d'Herbouville, and M. Hemonin, donor of the book that cost six sous.
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