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Updated: June 10, 2025
The glance of the latter, showed authority over his adept, in whom a practised eye would at once have recognized the joyous pupil of a painter, called in the argot of the studios a "rapin." "Behave yourself, Mistigris," said his master, giving him the nickname which the studio had no doubt bestowed upon him.
"Your tutor is, doubtless, some celebrated professor, isn't he? Monsieur Andrieux of the Academie Francaise, or Monsieur Royer-Collard?" asked Schinner. "My tutor is or was the Abbe Loraux, now vicar of Saint-Sulpice," replied Oscar, recollecting the name of the confessor at his school. "Well, you were right to take a private tutor," said Mistigris.
In the first place, Georges had soon decided that he was the superior human being of the party there assembled. He saw in the count a manufacturer of the second-class, whom he took, for some unknown reason, to be a chandler; in the shabby young man accompanied by Mistigris, a fellow of no account; in Oscar a ninny, and in Pere Leger, the fat farmer, an excellent subject to hoax.
"Gentlemen," said the count to the two notaries and Messieurs Margueron and de Reybert, "let us go into the next room and conclude this business before dinner, because, as my friend Mistigris would say: 'Qui esurit constentit." "Well, he is very good-natured," said Leon de Lora to Georges Marest, when the count had left the room.
"La, la!" retorted Mistigris; "'an ounce o' paint is worth a pound of swagger." "And such a costume! pure Greek!" continued Schinner. "Conflagration of soul! you understand? Well, I questioned my Diafoirus; and he told me that my neighbor was named Zena. Changed my linen.
"'Short counts make good ends." "Mistigris, behave yourself," said his master. Monsieur de Serizy was evidently taken by all the persons in the coach for a bourgeois of the name of Lecomte. "Don't disturb any one," he said to Pierrotin. "I will sit with you in front."
But she was glad to hide her joy under the excitement caused by her last word. "Your play, monsieur le baron," she said, with an air of importance. "My nephew is not one of those youths who like monstrosities," remarked Zephirine, taking out her knitting-needle and scratching her head. "Mistigris!" cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, making no reply to her friend.
"Monsieur is right," cried the painter; "no man should blaguer women." "God, Honor, and the Ladies! I believe in that melodrama," said Mistigris.
"But the people are used to it. Besides, Italians are so good-natured that if you let 'em murder a few travellers along the highways they're contented." "I see, Monsieur Schinner," said the count, "that you are not wearing the decoration you obtained in 1819; it seems the fashion nowadays not to wear orders." Mistigris and the pretended Schinner blushed to their ears.
Shall I take you through the woods, after dinner, in my carriage?" "Oh! oh! oh!" cried Mistigris, in three ecstatic tones. "Why, Presles will prove our terrestrial paradise." "With an Eve, a fair, young, fascinating woman," added Bridau. Just as Madame Moreau was bridling, and soaring to the seventh heaven, she was recalled like a kite by a twitch at its line.
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