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Updated: May 23, 2025
But you, no doubt, set great store by a certain letter written by that woman with regard to the child?" "So much so, that I always have it about me," replied Hulot, feeling in his breast-pocket for the little pocketbook which he always kept there. "Leave your pocketbook where it is," said the man, as crushing as a thunder-clap. "Here is the letter. I now know all I want to know.
"Not so mad!" said he, taking Madame Hulot round the knees; "old Crevel has his price, since you thought of applying to him, my angel." "They submit to have a man's arms round their knees, it would seem!" thought the saintly woman, covering her face with her hands. "Once you offered me a fortune!" said she, turning red. "Ay, mother! but that was three years ago!" replied Crevel.
"The marriage was celebrated this morning, at the Church of Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, between Monsieur le Comte Steinbock and Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot, daughter of Baron Hulot d'Ervy, Councillor of State, and a Director at the War Office; niece of the famous General Comte de Forzheim. The ceremony attracted a large gathering.
A heavy step made the narrow stairs creak, and Adeline could not restrain a piercing cry when she saw her husband, Baron Hulot, in a gray knitted jersey, old gray flannel trousers, and slippers. "What is your business, madame?" said Hulot, with a flourish. She rose, seized Hulot by the arm, and said in a voice hoarse with emotion: "At last I have found you!"
She also regarded it as an opportunity for finding her husband in the course of one of those expeditions which took her into every part of Paris. During this time, Vauvinet had been paid, and the pension of six thousand francs was almost redeemed. Victorin could maintain his mother as well as Hortense out of the ten thousand francs interest on the money left by Marshal Hulot in trust for them.
"The surgeon-major looked about him cautiously, as if to make sure who were his audience, and being satisfied that no Spaniard was within hearing, he said: "'We are none but Frenchmen then, with pleasure, Colonel Hulot. About six days since, I was quietly going home, at about eleven at night, after leaving General Montcornet, whose hotel is but a few yards from mine.
Marshal Hulot drove home with his brother, who took the front seat, respectfully leaving the whole of the back of the carriage to his senior. The two men spoke not a word. Hector was helpless. The Marshal was lost in thought, like a man who is collecting all his strength, and bracing himself to bear a crushing weight.
"It is you who deserve a promotion, but, by thunder! we are not under Louis XV.!" Such is the sense of comradeship that binds the glorious survivors of the Napoleonic phalanx, that they always feel as if they were in camp together, and bound to stand together through thick and thin. "One more favor such as this," Hulot reflected as he crossed the courtyard, "and I am done for!"
Marche-a-Terre gave no sign of disturbance at being watched. The curiosity of the two officers, who were new to this species of warfare, was greatly excited by this beginning of an affair which seemed to have an almost romantic interest, and they began to joke about it. But Hulot stopped them at once. "God's thunder!" he cried.
He saw this with satisfaction. At the same moment Madame Hulot came into the room in a state to touch the heart of the sternest judge. She flew into Hector's arms, looking alternately with a crazy eye at the Marshal and at the case of pistols. "What have you to say against your brother? What has my husband done to you?" said she, in such a voice that the Marshal heard her.
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