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Updated: May 7, 2025
The gentlemen bowed their thanks, and as Philibert looked up, he saw pretty Zoe Bedard poring over a sheet of paper bearing a red seal, and spelling out the crabbed law text of Master Pothier.
"I shall not need you to guide me back, Master Pothier," said Philibert, as he put some silver pieces in his hollow palm; "take your fee. The cause is gained, is it not, Le Gardeur?" He glanced triumphantly at his friend. "Good-by, Master Pothier," said he, as he rode off with Le Gardeur.
It is not the fashion, except among plain-spoken habitans, who always talk downright Norman." Master Pothier looked approvingly at Colonel Philibert, who, listening with indignant ears, scarcely heeded his guide.
They sat one on each side of Master Pothier, full as ticks and merry as grigs; a jolly chorus was in progress as Cadet entered. The company rose and bowed to the gentlemen who had honored them with a call.
The old notary could not keep up with them, but came jolting on behind, well pleased to have leisure to count and jingle his coins. Master Pothier was in that state of joyful anticipation when hope outruns realization.
Grotius, in Holland, excited the same interest in civil law that Dumoulin did in France, followed by eminent professors in Leyden and the German universities. It was reserved for Pothier, in the middle of the eighteenth century, to reduce the Roman law to systematic order, one of the most gigantic tasks that ever taxed the industry of man.
Why, he assures me that even the Intendant consults him sometimes as they sit eating and drinking half the night together in the buttery at the Chateau!" "Really! I must be careful what I say," replied Philibert, laughing, "or I shall get into hot water! But here he comes." As he spoke, Master Pothier came up, mounted on a raw-boned nag, lank as the remains of a twenty-years lawsuit.
Rochester, the favorite of Charles II; Pothier, the jurist; Bank, the English naturalist; Gall, Billat-Savarin, Benjamin Constant, the painter David, Bellart, the geographer Delamarche, and Care, the founder of the Gentleman's Magazine, were all men of extraordinary stature. Dwarfs. The Greeks believed in the pygmy people of Thrace and Pliny speaks of the Spithamiens.
"Jolly fellows!" replied Cadet, stretching his legs refreshingly, "this does look comfortable. Do you drink cider because you like it, or because you cannot afford better?" "There is nothing better than Norman cider, except Cognac brandy," replied Master Pothier, grinning from ear to ear. "Norman cider is fit for a king, and with a lining of brandy is drink for a Pope!
Antoine is a good boy, but he will be all the better for a careful mother-in-law's supervision." Master Pothier rubbed the top of his wig with his forefinger. "Are you sure, dame, that Antoine La Chance will wear the bridle easily?" "Assuredly! I should like to see son-in-law of mine who would not! Besides, Antoine is in the humor just now to refuse nothing for sake of Zoe.
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