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Updated: May 29, 2025
The former receiver-general had obtained with difficulty a delay of a fortnight to make up his deficiencies, taking the last chance that Jansoulet, with his election confirmed, and with full control over his millions again, would come to the rescue once more. The decision of the Assembly had just taken from him this last hope.
"That's just what I was saying to myself too, my boy," said Mère Jansoulet, shuddering at the memory of the ill-fated festivities in honor of the bey. "My boy!" to M. Barreau, to a man of his importance! That instantly placed her very high in the esteem of that little circle. Ah! grandeurs and splendors did not dazzle her, the brave-hearted old woman.
From her carriage, two negroes carried her into her apartments on an easy chair which, subsequently, always remained downstairs beneath the entrance porch, in readiness for these difficult removals. Mme. Jansoulet could not mount the staircase, which made her dizzy; she would not have lifts, which creaked under her weight; besides, she never walked.
Those words, "head of the family," plunged him immediately into one of those internal combats in which interest and conscience struggled for the mastery the one brutal, substantial, attacking vigorously with straight thrusts, the other elusive, breaking away by subtle disengagements while the worthy Jansoulet, unconscious cause of the conflict, walked with long strides close by his young friend, inhaling the fresh air with delight at the end of his lighted cigar.
"Yes, Le Merquier, Hemerlingue's agent, the dirty hypocrite who converted the baroness, no doubt because his religion forbade him to have a Mohammedan for a mistress." "Come, come, Jansoulet." "Well, M. le Duc? One can't help being angry. Think of the situation in which these wretches are placing me.
The abbé realized her embarrassment, and, to banish it, launched forth upon a speech delivered with the throaty voice, the violent gestures common to those men who always think that they have below them the ten steps leading to a pulpit: "Lo, the day has come, Madame, the great day when Monsieur Jansoulet is to confound his enemies.
Jansoulet went out with him, forgetting in his confusion to salute the baroness; and when they were safely out on the landing, arranged as a reception-room, the corpulent Hemerlingue, who had been very cold and reserved so long as he felt his wife's eye upon him, assumed a somewhat more open expression.
It was the Nabob's sobriquet at Tunis, the label of his fortune, so to speak. The bey, for his part, thinking that someone intended to make sport of him by bringing him thus face to face with the detested mercanti, glanced suspiciously at the inspector. "Jansoulet?" he said in his guttural voice. "Yes, your Highness, Bernard Jansoulet, the new Deputy for Corsica."
An orphan, with his two young brothers to support, he had been admitted to practice as an advocate in the South and was starting for Paris to seek his fortune. She implored Jansoulet to assist him, "for he sorely needed it, poor fellow." And she signed: "Your mother, who is dying for a sight of you, FRANÇOISE."
The Levantine was stupefied with this reading, absolutely astounded. "My dear," said she to Jansoulet, in her thick Flemish accent, "I don't know what our manager is thinking of. I am just reading this Revolt, which he is so mad about. But it is impossible. There is nothing dramatic about it."
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