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Updated: June 3, 2025


I am Monsieur Charnot of the Institute." Lampron gave a glance in my direction, and his frown melted away. "Excuse me, Monsieur; I only know you by your back. Had you shown me that side of you I might perhaps have recognized "

He turned on his heel with his keys in one hand and the letter in the other, and went on his way through the shady avenue, rolling his broad back from side to side, attired in a jacket which might have fitted in front, but was all too short behind. The shady precincts of which Lampron wrote did not seem to have been pruned. The park was cool and green.

Madame Lampron does not hoard; she only fills the place of those dams of cut turf which the peasants build in the channels of the Berry in spring; the water passes over them, beneath them, even through them, but still a little is left for the great droughts. I love my friend Lampron, though fully aware of his superiority.

Lampron started, and turned half around, narrowing his eyes as he peered into the darkness. "Ah, it's you," he said. He rose and came quickly toward me, as if to prevent me from approaching the table. "You don't wish me to look?" He hesitated a moment. "After all, why not?" he answered. The copper plate was hardly marked with a few touches of the needle.

Your happiness is your due; what matter how God chooses to grant it? Suppose it is an income for life paid to you by your relatives, your friends, the world in general, and the natural order of things? Well, draw your dividends, and don't bother about where they come from." Since Lampron said so, and he is a philosopher, I think I had better follow his advice.

July 22d. At two o'clock to-day I went to see Sylvestre, to tell him all the great events of yesterday. We sat down on the old covered sofa in the shadow of the movable curtain which divides the studio, as it were, into two rooms, among the lay figures, busts, varnish-bottles, and paint-boxes. Lampron likes this chiaroscuro. It rests his eyes. Some one knocked at the door.

But however flattering characters they might give him, I still needed another, that of a man who had lived in complete intimacy with Monsieur Mouillard, and I could find no one but you." Lampron stared astonished at this little thin-lipped man who had just changed his tone and manner so unexpectedly.

I noticed that Madame Lampron was stooping lower and lower over her needles. He went on: "I have kept the portrait, the one you saw, Fabien. They would like to have it over yonder. They are old folk by now.

I think I might have been devoted to his profession, or to literature, or to anything but law. We shall see. For the present I have taken a plunge into the unknown. My time is all my own, my freedom is absolute, and I am enjoying it. I have hidden nothing from Lampron. As my friend he is pleased, I can see, at a resolve which keeps me in Paris; but his prudence cries out upon it.

These four days have seemed as if they never would end especially the last. But now it wants only two minutes of noon. In two minutes, if Lampron is not late Rat-a-tat-tat! "Come in." "It is twelve o'clock, my friend; are you coming?" It was Lampron. For the last hour I had had my hat on my head, my stick between my legs, and had been turning over my essay with gloved hands. He laughed at me.

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