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Updated: July 17, 2025
He let out the fact that he was to witness the ceremony and, confronted by Des Hermies's stare of stupefaction, he added that he had promised secrecy and that he could not, for the present, tell him more. "You're the lucky one!" said Des Hermies. "Is it too much to ask you the name of the abbé who is to officiate?" "Not at all. Canon Docre." "Ah!" and the other was silent.
"What do you think of him?" Des Hermies asked Durtal in a very low voice, and pointed at the astrologer, now lost in a cloud of pipe smoke. "In repose he looks like an old owl, and when he speaks he makes me think of a melancholy and discursive schoolmaster." "Only one," said Des Hermies to Carhaix, who was holding a lump of sugar over Des Hermies's coffee cup.
But hell, I am not likely to take his wife away from him very long." He had an idea of going home, but he realized that he would do no work, that alone he would relapse into daydream. "If I went up to Des Hermies's place. Yes, today was his consultation day, it's an idea." He quickened his pace, came to the rue Madame, and rang at an entresol. The housekeeper opened the door.
For some months Durtal had been trying to reassemble the fragments of a shattered literary theory which had once seemed inexpugnable, and Des Hermies's opinions troubled him, in spite of their exaggerated vehemence.
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