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Updated: June 5, 2025
Madame Hochon actually risked the use of her precious relics! These preparations and this sacrifice increased old Hochon's anxiety; up to this time he had not believed in the arrival of the Bridaus. The morning of the day that was celebrated by the trick on Fario, Madame Hochon said to her husband after breakfast: "I hope, Hochon, that you will receive my goddaughter, Madame Bridau, properly."
The gendarmes were obliged to draw their sabres on the furious mob, which pelted them with stones. One of the officers was wounded, and Joseph received several of the missiles on his legs, and shoulders, and hat. "Here we are!" said one of the gendarmes, as they entered Monsieur Hochon's hall, "and not without difficulty, lieutenant."
"He says it is not playing fair," answered Hochon. "Then we will say no more about it," said the old lady, "I shall pray for you." "Well, madame, prayer and a good point can do no harm," said Philippe, making a thrust as if to pierce Monsieur Hochon's heart. The old lady kissed the colonel on his forehead.
Madame Bridau ought, in my opinion, to follow Monsieur Hochon's advice in everything; for your excellent mother will have many scruples in dealing with persons who have no scruple at all, and whose behavior to her is a master-stroke of policy. That Maxence, you are right enough, is dangerous. He is another Philippe, but of a different calibre.
Hochon's eldest son was taken by the draft of 1813, which drew in the sons of well-to-do families who had escaped the regular conscription, and were now formed into a corps styled the "guards of honor."
Max repented having driven the old man into giving away the pictures, and the rage he felt against the heirs after hearing from Baruch old Hochon's ecclesiastical scheme, was increased by what he termed his own stupidity. The influence of religion upon such a feeble creature as Rouget was the one thing to fear.
During this address, Flore shook like a person with the ague. "Kill Max ?" she said, gazing at Philippe in the moonlight. "Come, here's my uncle." Old Rouget, turning a deaf ear to Monsieur Hochon's remonstrances, now came out into the street, and took Flore by the hand, as a miser might have grasped his treasure; he drew her back to the house and into his own room and shut the door.
Now that the struggle between the interlopers and the heirs, hitherto existing only in his wife's mind, had become an actual fact, Monsieur Hochon's keen intelligence, lulled to sleep by the monotony of provincial life, was fully roused.
"Uncle, I have some pictures to return to you; they are now at Monsieur Hochon's. Will you be kind enough to come over some day and identify them." Saying these last words in a curt tone, lieutenant-colonel Philippe Bridau departed.
Every movement betrayed intelligence; born with grace and charm, like nearly all the children of love, the noble blood of his real father came out in him. "Don't you know, Max," cried the son of a former surgeon-major named Goddet now the best doctor in the town from the other end of the table, "that Madame Hochon's goddaughter is the sister of Rouget?
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