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Updated: May 22, 2025
"As you please, Monsieur Jupille; I accept the invitation unconditionally." "I am so glad you will come, Monsieur Mouillard. I only wish we could have a little storm between this and then."
On Sundays, on the quays by the Seine, I pick him out from the crowd intent upon the capture of tittlebats, because he is seated upon his handkerchief. I go up to him and we have a talk. "Fish biting, Monsieur Jupille?" "Hardly at all." "Sport is not what it used to be?" "Ah! Monsieur Mouillard, if you could have seen it thirty years ago!" This date is always cropping up with him.
He has told me this one tragedy of his life. In days gone by I used to think this thirty-year-old love-story dull and commonplace; to-day I understand M. Jupille; I relish him even. He and I have become sympathetic. I no longer make him move from his seat by the fire when I want to ask him a question: I go to him.
On Sundays, on the quays by the Seine, I pick him out from the crowd intent upon the capture of tittlebats, because he is seated upon his handkerchief. I go up to him and we have a talk. "Fish biting, Monsieur Jupille?" "Hardly at all." "Sport is not what it used to be?" "Ah! Monsieur Mouillard, if you could have seen it thirty years ago!" This date is always cropping up with him.
Thus it happens that the old clerk Jupille and I have been thrown together. I enjoy his talk. He is a simplehearted, honorable man, with a philosophy that I am sure can not be in the least German, because I can understand it. I have gradually told him all my secrets. I felt the need of a confidant, for I was stifling, metaphorically as well as literally.
Robbie, who will forward it to Mr. Romaine, who in turn may find a means to get it smuggled through to Paris, Rue du Fouarre, 16. It should be consigned to the widow Jupille, 'to be called for by the corporal who praised her vin blanc. She will remember; and in truth a man who had the courage to praise it deserves remembrance as singular among the levies of France.
A young relative of mine who is in a hurry to lose his head; whereas I prefer to choose the time for that." I took this for a splutter of hatred, and even found it laughable as I made my escape good. At the same time, our encounter had put me out of humour for gaping at the review, and I turned back and recrossed the river, to seek the Rue du Fouarre and the Widow Jupille.
I stepped to the door and called down the stairs, "Madame Jupille, be so good as to ask my other visitor to ascend." With that I turned to the window again and stood there looking out upon the foul gutter along which the refuse of some dye-works at the head of the street found its way down to the Seine. And standing so, I heard the expected footsteps mounting the stairs.
"Above all things, tell nobody where it is!" begged Jupille. "It is our secret; I discovered it myself." When I left Sceaux to meet Jupille, who had started before daybreak, the sun was already high. There was not a cloud nor a breath of wind; the sway of summer lay over all things. But, though the heat was broiling, the walk was lovely. All about me was alive with voice or perfume.
At a turn of the road M. Flamaran suddenly pulled up, looked all around him, and drew a deep breath. "Hallo, Jupille! My good sir, where are you taking us? If I can believe my eyes, this is the Chestnut Knoll, down yonder is Plessis Piquet, and we are two miles from the station and the seven o'clock train!" There was no denying it.
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