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Updated: May 24, 2025
"I am told that he has made an enemy of almost every man who had to work with him." "That's nothing. He did his work. . . . Like me." "He never counted the cost they say. Not even of lives." Renouard understood that they were talking of him. Before he could move away, Mrs. Dunster struck in placidly "Don't let yourself be shocked by the tales you may hear of him, my dear. Most of it is envy."
Renouard, a seaman, entered his shop for some tobacco, and returned in a few minutes agitated and pale, excitedly asking, "Who is the man that sold me this tobacco?" At the answer, "Mr. Le Quoy," he replied, "Yes, Mr. Le Quoy de Mesereau. When I went to Martinique to be port-captain of St. Pierre, this man was civil governor of the island, and refused to confirm my appointment."
As opportunity offered, the firm used to send them on to Malata either by a man-of-war schooner going on a cruise, or by some trading craft proceeding that way. But for the last four months there had been no opportunity. Renouard, perfunctorily, did see no reason why he should make a long stay. "For health, for your mental health, my boy," rejoined the newspaper man.
"And what did you say to the gentleman?" "I say I don't know and I clear out. I I don't like to speak of him." "All right. We shall try to lay that poor ghost," said Renouard gloomily, going off to a small hut near by to dress. He was saying to himself: "This fellow will end by giving me away. The last thing that I . . . No! That mustn't be."
While he was speaking Renouard saw again the sway of her figure in a movement of grace and strength felt the pressure of her hand heard the last accents of the deep murmur that came from her throat so white in the light of the window, and remembered the black rays of her steady eyes passing off his face when she turned away. He remembered all this visually, and it was not exactly pleasurable.
His illustrations are those of a great artist admirable in colour, movement and observation; all the great principles of Impressionism are embodied in them. But there are four more illustrators of the first rank: Steinlen, Louis Legrand, Paul Renouard and Auguste Lepère. Steinlen has been enormously productive: he is specially remarkable for his illustrations.
I will say it myself I suppose once for all. . . Immediately he raised his voice very much. "Send the boys down to bring up the luggage." "Yes, master." Renouard turned to his distinguished guests who, like a personally conducted party of tourists, had stopped and were looking about them. "I am sorry," he began with an impassive face. "My man has just told me that Mr.
Then, in order that nothing might be lacking to the absurdity of the contract, he has said to those whom he ought to guarantee: "Guarantee yourselves!" I do not believe, any more than M. Renouard, that the legislators of all ages and all countries have wilfully committed robbery in sanctioning the various monopolies which are pivotal in public economy.
The splendid immobility of the bay resting under his gaze, with its grey spurs and shining indentations, helped Renouard to regain his self-possession, which he had felt shaken, in coming out on the terrace, into the setting of the most powerful emotion of his life, when he had sat within a foot of Miss Moorsom with fire in his breast, a humming in his ears, and in a complete disorder of his mind.
Renouard did not like being asked about his people, for whom he had a profound and remorseful affection. He had not seen a single human being to whom he was related, for many years, and he was extremely different from them all.
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