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Updated: June 3, 2025
It is hardly possible, however, for us to deceive ourselves: these would-be maidens, to whom M. Kangourou has introduced us, have already had in their lives one adventure, at least, and perhaps more; it is therefore only natural that we should have our suspicions. The Z and Touki-San couple jog on, quarrelling all the time.
"It can be arranged, Monsieur!" repeats Kangourou again, who at this moment appears to me a go-between of the lowest type, a rascal of the meanest kind. Only, he adds, we, Yves and I, are in the way during the negotiations.
M. Kangourou relates, without seeing anything wrong in it whatever, that formerly this talent was of great service to M. Sucre.
They are only doing a thing that is perfectly admissible in their world, and really it all resembles, more than I could have thought possible, a bona fide marriage. "But what fault do you find with the little girl?" asks M. Kangourou, in consternation.
"It can be arranged, Monsieur!" repeats Kangourou again, who at this moment appears to me a go-between of the lowest type, a rascal of the meanest kind. Only, he adds, we, Yves and I, are in the way during the negotiations.
And then Charles N fancies his wife is faithless. It is hardly possible, however, for us to deceive ourselves: these would-be maidens, to whom M. Kangourou has introduced us, are young people who have already had in their lives one, or perhaps more than one, adventure; it is therefore only natural that we should have our suspicions. The Z and Touki-San couple jog on, quarreling all the time.
It is ten o'clock when all is finally settled, and M. Kangourou comes to tell me: "All is arranged, Monsieur: her parents will give her up for twenty dollars a month the same price as Mademoiselle Jasmin."
They are only doing a thing that is perfectly admissible in their world, and really it all resembles, more than I could have thought possible, a bona fide marriage. "But what fault do you find with the little girl?" asks M. Kangourou, in consternation.
And she, who has followed our eyes and begins to guess what is on foot, lowers her head in confusion, with a more decided but more charming pout, and tries to step back, half-sulky, half-smiling. "It makes no difference," continues M. Kangourou, "it can be arranged just as well with this one; she is not married either, Monsieur!" She is not married!
Let us seek among a less distinguished class of young persons, but without scars. And how about those on the other side of the screen, in those fine gold-embroidered dresses? For instance, the dancer with the spectre mask, Monsieur Kangourou? or again she who sings in so dulcet a strain and has such a charming nape to her neck?"
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