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Updated: May 12, 2025
"The woman is Mademoiselle Victorine, the dompteuse." "Ah, I've not seen her yet. She burst upon Paris while I was away. Now, straight: no lies: who are the others?" Meyerbeer hesitated; for, of course, he did not wish to speak of Gaston at this stage in the game. But he said: "Count Ploare and Zoug-Zoug." "Why don't you tell me the truth?" "I do. Now, who is Zoug-Zoug?" "Find out."
Count Ploare there was nothing in that. A blase man of the world, who had found it all not worth the bothering about, neither code nor people he saw in this rich impetuous nature a new range of emotions, a brief return to the time when he tasted an open strong life in Algiers, in Tahiti. And he would laugh at the world by marrying her yes, actually marrying her, the dompteuse!
A wanderer, an Ishmael then, her handful of household goods and her father in the grasp of the Law: to-day, Mademoiselle Victorine, queen of animal-tamers! And her name associated with the Comte Ploare! With the Comte Ploare? Had it come to that? He remembered the look in her face when he bade her good-bye. Impossible! Then, immediately he laughed. Why impossible?
It was not intellectual, but it was power of a kind; and it was decent, and healthy, and infinitely better than playing the Jew in business, or keeping a tavern, or "shaving" notes, and all that. Truly, the woman was to be admired, for she was earning an honest living; and no doubt they lied when they named her with Count Ploare. He kept coming back to that Count Ploare!
Meyerbeer, in a far corner, was still on the trail of his sensation. He thought that he might get an article out of it with the help of Count Ploare and Zoug-Zoug. Who was Zoug-Zoug? He exulted in her picturesqueness, and he determined to lie in wait. He thought it a pity that Comte Ploare was not an Englishman or an American; but it couldn't be helped.
Meyerbeer, in a far corner, was still on the trail of his sensation. He thought that he might get an article out of it with the help of Count Ploare and Zoug-Zoug. Who was Zoug-Zoug? He exulted in her picturesqueness, and he determined to lie in wait. He thought it a pity that Comte Ploare was not an Englishman or an American; but it couldn't be helped.
"The woman is Mademoiselle Victorine, the dompteuse." "Ah, I've not seen her yet. She burst upon Paris while I was away. Now, straight: no lies: who are the others?" Meyerbeer hesitated; for, of course, he did not wish to speak of Gaston at this stage in the game. But he said: "Count Ploare and Zoug-Zoug." "Why don't you tell me the truth?" "I do. Now, who is Zoug-Zoug?" "Find out."
Meyerbeer, who had not yet discovered his man, though he had a pretty scandal well-nigh brewed. Count Ploare was no more, Gaston Belward was. Zoug-Zoug was in the country at Fontainebleau, working at his picture. He had left on the morning after Gaston discovered Andree. He had written, asking his nephew to come for some final sittings.
Meyerbeer, who had not yet discovered his man, though he had a pretty scandal well-nigh brewed. Count Ploare was no more, Gaston Belward was. Zoug-Zoug was in the country at Fontainebleau, working at his picture. He had left on the morning after Gaston discovered Andree. He had written, asking his nephew to come for some final sittings.
'Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket, And say a poor buffer lies low!" "Get the jacket ready," put in a young Frenchman, sneering. The Englishman's jaw hardened, but he replied coolly "What do you know about it?" "I know enough. The Comte Ploare visits her." "How the devil does that concern my painting her?" There was iron in Bagshot's voice. "Who says you are painting her?"
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