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Updated: May 2, 2025
He sat up with delight to see an artist and his "Madame" returning from a journey in the country, seated upon sheaves of corn, quite unregarded by the world; doing as they listed with unabashed simplicity. He dined often at the little Hotel St. Malo near the Gare Montparnasse, where the excellent landlord played the host, father, critic, patron, comrade often benefactor to his bons enfants.
But when the car lurched or bumped over an obstruction it made him giddy, and he would have fallen had he been standing. The familiar streets of the Montparnasse and Luxembourg quarters had for his eyes all the charm and delight of home things to the returned traveller. He felt as if he had been away for months, and he caught himself looking for changes, and it made him laugh.
Just as they were finishing their morsel of bread, and had reached the angle of that gloomy Rue des Ballets, at the other end of which the low and threatening wicket of La Force was visible: "Hullo, is that you, Gavroche?" said some one. "Hullo, is that you, Montparnasse?" said Gavroche.
On the Day of the Dead Madame Dépine emerged into importance, taking her friend with her to the Cemetery Montparnasse to see the glass flowers blooming immortally over the graves of her husband and children. Two months passed. Another of Madame Valière's teeth fell out. Madame Dépine's cheeks grew more pendulous. But their brown wigs remained as fadeless as the cemetery flowers.
No woman had ever existed or ever would exist for him but his poor darling, sleeping in the Montparnasse Cemetery, whose grave he visited every Sunday with a little watering-pot concealed under his coat.
When Clutton got up he said: "I expect you'll find me here this evening if you care to come. You'll find this about the best place for getting dyspepsia at the lowest cost in the Quarter." Philip walked down the Boulevard du Montparnasse. It was not at all like the Paris he had seen in the spring during his visit to do the accounts of the Hotel St.
The old man seemed absorbed in profound thought. He stood motionless, and did not relax his hold on Montparnasse. Every moment the vigorous and agile young ruffian indulged in the twitchings of a wild beast caught in a snare. He gave a jerk, tried a crook of the knee, twisted his limbs desperately, and made efforts to escape.
Supposing that you should need me some night, you can come and hunt me up there. I lodge on the entresol. There is no porter. You will inquire for Monsieur Gavroche." "Very good," said Montparnasse. And they parted, Montparnasse betaking himself in the direction of the Greve, and Gavroche towards the Bastille.
Thus it happened that big Maubert, shaggy and dirty and drunk, reeling down the rue de la Gaiétè, very suddenly gave up all idea of finding his way to his province in the interior. Never mind about those three days in Paris. Maubert was quite sober when he got on the train again at Montparnasse. He did not regret his larger vacation. He had had a very good permission, take it all in all.
This gave him a different nose. "That changes you," remarked Gavroche, "you are less homely so, you ought to keep them on all the time." Montparnasse was a handsome fellow, but Gavroche was a tease. "Seriously," demanded Montparnasse, "how do you like me so?" The sound of his voice was different also. In a twinkling, Montparnasse had become unrecognizable. "Oh!
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