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Updated: June 17, 2025
One evening, on the boulevard, he met one of his cousins whom he saw but very seldom. He was a pleasant journalist, well received in all classes of society, who offered to show Patissot many interesting things. "What are you going to do next Sunday?" "I'm going boating at Argenteuil." "Come on! Boating is an awful bore; there is no variety to it. Listen I'll take you along with me.
Anyhow, Monsieur Patissot, you needn't expect to get me tipsy the way you did last Sunday. My wife was furious, you know; and she has sworn never to forgive you!" The fat gentleman declared that he would only eat at the Elms, because it was an excellent place and the cooking was as good as in the best restaurants in Paris.
The hideous creatures swarmed in their bath of bran as they do in putrid meat. Patissot wished to practice baiting his hook. He took up one with disgust, but he had hardly placed the curved steel point against it when it split open. Twenty times he repeated this without success, and he might have continued all night had he not feared to exhaust his supply of vermin. He left by the first train.
Get together, open up a subscription in order to give to your houses and to your street a more brilliant and more artistic appearance than the neighboring houses and streets. Then Monsieur Patissot tried to imagine how he could give to his home an artistic appearance. One serious obstacle stood in the way.
When it was paid for he was suddenly silent. He bowed with a superior air, and, holding the door open, he watched his customer disappear, both arms filled with bundles and vainly trying to reach his hat to bow. M. Patissot returned home and carefully studied the map. He wished to try on his shoes, which were more like skates than shoes, owing to the spikes.
M. Patissot, born in Paris, after having failed in his examinations at the College Henri IV., like many others, had entered the government service through the influence of one of his aunts, who kept a tobacco store where the head of one of the departments bought his provisions.
People were lined along bath banks, men in frock coats, others in duck suits, others in blouses, women, children and even young girls of marriageable age; all were fishing. Patissot started for the dam where his friend Boivin was waiting for him. The latter greeted him rather coolly.
Patissot was filled with a boundless, triumphant joy; he wished to have the fish fried for himself alone. During the dinner the friends grew still more intimate. He learned that the fat gentleman lived at Argenteuil and had been sailing boats for thirty years without losing interest in the sport.
Patissot, very much embarrassed, was bowing at every word of his friend's, as though moving automatically, and he murmured, stammering: "What a su su superb property!" The artist, flattered, smiled, and suggested visiting it. He led them first to a little pavilion of feudal aspect, where his former studio was.
Monsieur Patissot was growing angry, and exclaimed: "And how about Madame Sand, monsieur?" "She is the one exception, monsieur, the one exception. I will quote to you another passage from another great philosopher, this one an Englishman, Herbert Spencer.
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