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Madame Doulce and Pradel called to mind three physicians in succession; but they were unable to find the address of the first; the second was bad-tempered, and it was decided that the third was dead. Nanteuil suggested that they should approach Dr. Trublet. "That's an idea!" exclaimed Pradel. "Let us ask a certificate of Dr. Socrates. What's to-day? Friday. It's his day for consultations.

On the stage, Marie-Claire, hanging upon Durville's neck, was exclaiming: "Go! Victorious or defeated, in good or evil fortune, your glory will be equally great. Come what may, I shall know how to show myself the wife of a hero." "That will do, Madame Marie-Claire!" said Pradel.

The first chamberlains, masters of the wardrobe, were five in number: the Marquis de Boisgelin, the Count de Pradel, the Count Curial, the Marquis d'Avaray, the Duke d'Avaray. There were besides thirty-two gentlemen of the chamber, without counting those that were honorary.

Love by mutual consent is merely a tedious obligation." And he cried, greatly excited. "Delage is prodigious!" "Don't get yourself into a fix," said Pradel. "This same little Lydie entices my actors into her dressing-room, and then all of a sudden she screams out that she is being outraged in order to get hush-money out of them. It's her lover who has taught her the trick, and takes the coin.

"What would be seemly," replied Constantin Marc, "would be to obey the laws of the Church, which excommunicates suicides." "Monsieur Constantin Marc, have you read Les Soirées de Neuilly?" inquired Pradel, who was an ardent collector of old books and a great reader. "What, you have not read Les Soirées de Neuilly, by Monsieur de Fongeray? You have missed something.

In 1828 he wrote an impromptu to M. Pradel, who had improvised a Gascon song in honour of the poet. The Gascon painter, Champmas, had compared Jasmin to a ray of sunshine, and in 1829 the poet sent him a charming piece of verse in return for his compliment. In 1830 Jasmin composed The Third of May, which was translated into French by M. Duvigneau.

"My dear Pradel, don't you have anything more to do with the matter." "Whereupon Nanteuil, her eyes blazing, her voice sibilant, cried: "He must go to church, doctor; sign what is asked of you, write that he was not in possession of his faculties, I entreat you." There was not religion alone at the back of this desire.

"Is it really true, doctor, that he killed himself because Nanteuil wouldn't have any more to do with him?" "He killed himself," replied Trublet, "because she loved another. The obsession of genetic images frequently determines mania and melancholia." "You don't understand second-rate actors, Dr. Socrates," said Pradel. "He killed himself to cause a sensation, and for no other reason."

Nanteuil had every reason to speak well of Pradel, and she referred to him without any feeling of ill will, and with frank directness. "It was shameful, disgusting, rotten of him," she said. "He wouldn't let me play Agnès and gave the part to Falempin. I must say, though, that when I asked him I didn't go the right way about it. While she knows how to tackle him, if you like! But what do I care!

Having hearkened to the words of Monsieur l'Abbé Mirabelle, Madame Doulce hastened back to the theatre. The rehearsal of La Grille was over. She found Pradel in his office with a couple of young actresses, one of whom was soliciting an engagement, the other, leave of absence. He refused, in conformity with his principle never to grant a request until he had first refused it.

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