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Updated: May 2, 2025
The forehead seemed like the protecting rampart of this delicious face. Mlle. Hocquigny was adored and made much of by every one, but she remained invulnerable to all homage. She was happy in being beloved, but she would not allow any one to express affection for her.
On reaching home we found there Paul de Remusat, charming Mlle. Hocquigny, and M. de Monbel, a young attache d'ambassade. I explained my lateness as well as I could, and that morning finished in the most delicious harmony of ideas. I have never felt more than I did that day the infinite joy of listening. During a silence Mlle.
At the Palais de l'Industrie a remarkable number of celebrated doctors and surgeons were on duty, and they, as well as the convalescents, were all more or less in love with Mlle. Hocquigny. As she and I were great friends, she confided to me her observations and her sorrowful disdain. Thanks to her, I was never short of linen nor of lint. I had organised my ambulance with a very small staff.
I received lint and bandages from every corner of Paris, but it was more particularly from the Palais de l'Industrie that I used to get my provisions of lint and of linen for binding wounds. There was an adorable woman there, named Mlle. Hocquigny, who was at the head of all the ambulances.
Hocquigny sent me ten thousand kilograms of wood, and then I took courage again. I had been told about some new system of keeping meat, by which the meat lost neither its juice nor its nutritive quality.
Hocquigny turned to the Marshal and said: "Are you not of the opinion that our young friend should enter the Comedie Francaise?" "Ah, no, no!" I exclaimed; "I am so happy at the Odeon. I began at the Comedie, and the short time I remained there I was very unhappy." "You will be obliged to go back there, my dear friend obliged. Believe me, it will be better early than late."
Hocquigny, that admirable person who was keeper of the linen in the commissariat during the war, and who had so powerfully helped me and my wounded at that time. Then I undertook the bust of my young sister Regina, who had, alas! a weak chest. A more perfect face was never made by the hand of God!
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