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Updated: June 22, 2025
The poor Breton went down the hill to Havre and to his desk in Gobenheim's counting-room with a heavy heart; then, before returning to dinner, he went to see Latournelle, to tell his fears, and beg once more for the notary's advice and assistance.
"Which is the poet?" asked Madame Latournelle of Dumay in the embrasure of a window, where she stationed herself as soon as she heard the wheels. "The one who walks like a drum-major," answered the lieutenant. "Ah!" said the notary's wife, examining Canalis, who was swinging his body like a man who knows he is being looked at.
Disregarding Mademoiselle d'Herouville's haughty shrug, the duke left the room with the notary. Madame Latournelle, half-crazed with joy at seeing the gorgeous carriage at her door, with footmen in royal livery letting down the steps, was too agitated on hearing that the grand equerry had called for her, to find her gloves, her parasol, her absurdity, or her usual air of pompous dignity.
Then she looked at the friends who surrounded her, as if surprised by their silence, and exclaimed in her natural manner, "Why are you not playing?" with a glance at the green table which the imposing Madame Latournelle called the "altar." "Yes, let us play," said Dumay, having sent off Exupere.
"She swore to her mother this morning," said the notary, "in presence of Dumay, that she had not exchanged a look or a word with any living soul." "Then she loves after my fashion!" exclaimed Butscha. "And how is that, my poor lad?" asked Madame Latournelle. "Madame," said the little cripple, "I love alone and afar oh! as far as from here to the stars."
This little incident serves to show what dangers environ a drawing-room hero when he steps, like Canalis, out of his sphere; he is like the favorite actor of a second-rate audience, whose talent is lost when he leaves his own boards and steps upon those of an upper-class theatre. The game opened with the baron and the duke, Gobenheim and Latournelle as partners.
"Those two young men," said Madame Latournelle, on the Saturday evening, "have no idea how many spies they have on their tracks. We are eight in all, on the watch." "Don't say two young men, wife; say three!" cried little Latournelle, looking round him. "Gobenheim is not here, so I can speak out." Modeste raised her head, and everybody, imitating Modeste, raised theirs and looked at the notary.
It is plain you've just come from China." The impertinence of Modeste's speech was heightened by a little air of contemptuous disdain which she purposely put on, and which fairly astounded Madame Mignon, Madame Latournelle, and Dumay. As for Madame Latournelle, she opened her eyes so wide she no longer saw anything.
The police gazette publishes tales, differing somewhat from those of Walter Scott, but ending tragically with blood, not ink. Happiness and virtue exist above and beyond both art and genius." "Bravo, Butscha!" cried Madame Latournelle. "What did he say?" asked Canalis of La Briere, failing to gather from the eyes and attitude of Mademoiselle Mignon the usual signs of artless admiration.
We can now imagine the sort of life led by mother and daughter at the Chalet. Monsieur and Madame Latournelle, often accompanied by Gobenheim, came to call and play whist with Dumay nearly every evening. The conversation turned on the gossip of Havre and the petty events of provincial life. The little company separated between nine and ten o'clock.
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