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"Then you are most welcome here," said the count, taking Bridau's hand in both of his. "I knew your father, and you can count on me as on on an uncle in America," added the count, laughing. "But you are too young to have pupils of your own; to whom does Mistigris really belong?" "To my friend Schinner, who lent him to me," said Joseph. "Mistigris' name is Leon de Lora.
"We are brothers in socks," said Mistigris, pulling up his own trousers sufficiently to show an effect of the same kind, "'By the footing, Hercules." The count, who overheard this, laughed as he stood with folded arms under the porte-cochere, a little behind the other travellers.
"I cannot explain to myself this sudden arrival; nor do I know what has brought him And Moreau not here!" "His Excellency wishes Monsieur Schinner to come over to the chateau," said the gardener, coming to the door of the salon. "And he begs Monsieur Schinner to give him the pleasure to dine with him; also Monsieur Mistigris." "Done for!" cried the rapin, laughing.
"Come, Mistigris," said the master to his rapin, "remember the respect you owe to age; you don't know how shockingly old you may be yourself some day. 'Travel deforms youth. Give your place to monsieur." Mistigris opened the leathern curtain and jumped out with the agility of a frog leaping into the water. "You mustn't be a rabbit, august old man," he said to the count.
"In the studios we say croquer, craunch, nibble, for sketching," interposed Mistigris, with an insinuating air, "and we are always wanting to croquer beautiful heads. That's the origin of the expression, 'She is pretty enough to eat." "I was not aware of the origin of the term," she replied, with the sweetest glance at Mistigris.
In all human faces there is a spot where the secret emotions of the heart betray themselves; and these companions, accustomed for years to observe each other, had ended by finding out that spot on the rector's face: when he had Mistigris the tip of his nose grew pale. "You had company to-day," said the chevalier to Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. "Yes, a cousin of my brother-in-law.
"And my parents believed they had educated me!" thought Oscar, endeavoring to smoke with better grace. But his nausea was so strong that he was thankful when Mistigris filched his cigar, remarking, as he smoked it with evident satisfaction, "You haven't any contagious diseases, I hope." Oscar in reply would fain have punched his head.
Poor Oscar had tears in his eyes as he looked in turn from Joseph to Leon. "Merely a joke made in travelling," replied Joseph, who wanted to save Oscar's feelings out of pity. "The boy just wanted to be funny like the rest of us, and he blagued, that's all," said Mistigris.
When the Cenacle friends or some brother-painter, like Schinner, Pierre Grassou, Leon de Lora, a very youthful "rapin" who was called at that time Mistigris, discussed a picture, she would come back afterwards, examine it attentively, and discover nothing to justify their fine words and their hot disputes.
I can mimic an Englishman so perfectly I might have pretended to be Lord Byron, travelling incognito. Sapristi! I'll command the troops of Ali, pacha of Janina!" During this mental monologue, the coucou rolled through clouds of dust rising on either side of it from that much travelled road. "What dust!" cried Mistigris. "Henry IV. is dead!" retorted his master.
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