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Updated: May 5, 2025
Thus Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in the ninth regiment of artillery, came in the month of October, 1880, to take possession of the house that had been his father's; thus he found himself once more in the place where his childhood had passed, and where every one had kept green the memory of the life and death of his father; thus the Abbe Constantin was not denied the happiness of once again having near him the son of his old friend, and, if the truth must be told, he no longer wished that Jean had become a doctor.
The doctor had been like Bernard; he never went to mass or to confession; but he was so good, so charitable, so compassionate to the suffering. This was the cause of the Cure's great anxiety, of his great solicitude. His friend Reynaud, where was he? Where was he?
When they started, the battalion followed the road which led through Longueval, and which passed before the doctor's house. Madame Reynaud and Jean were waiting by the roadside. The child threw himself into his father's arms. "Take me, too, papa! take me, too!" Madame Reynaud wept. The doctor held them both in a long embrace, then he continued his way.
The chief authors of Paris, the journalists, and the artists, had a special meeting in honour of Jasmin. A banquet was organised by the journalists of the Deux Mondes, at the instance of Meissonier, Lireux, Lalandelle, C. Reynaud, L. Pichat, and others. M. Jules Janin presided, and complimented Jasmin in the name of the Parisian press.
That evening the village was ours, and the next day they placed in the cemetery of Villersexel the body of Dr. Reynaud. Two months later the Abbe Constantin took back to Longueval the coffin of his friend, and behind the coffin, when it was carried from the church, walked an orphan. Jean had also lost his mother.
In his imagination he saw this Madame Scott settled at the castle and despising his little Catholic church and all his simple services to the quiet village folk. He was still brooding over the unhappy fate of Longueval when his godson, Jean Reynaud son of his old friend Dr. Reynaud to whom he had been as good as a father, and who was worthy of the old priest's love, dismounted at his door.
The printers of the works of Prynne, Barthius, Reynaud, and other voluminous writers must have had a sorry experience with their authors; but "once bitten twice shy." Hence some of these worthies found it rather difficult to publish their works, and there were no authors' agents or Societies of Authors to aid their negotiations.
M. Jean Reynaud, the distinguished French philosophical writer of the first half of the nineteenth century, once said that Basil Valentine, like Ossian and Homer, had many towns claim him years after his death. He also suggested that, like those old poets, it was possible that the writings sometimes attributed to Basil Valentine were really the work not of one man, but of several individuals.
Did they recognize me? When will you take me to Longueval? Answer me." "Answer? Yes. But which question first?" "The last." "When shall I take you to Longueval?" "Yes." "Well, in ten days; they don't want to see any one just now." "Then you are not going back to Longueval for ten days?" "Oh, I shall go back to-day at four o'clock. But I don't count, you know. Jean Reynaud, the Cure's godson.
It was not; but by the time Cyrus had been ordered twice across the city and once up a sixteen-story building in which the elevator service was out of order, it was past noon, and he was in a condition to find envelope No. 7 a very satisfactory one: "Go to Cafe Reynaud on Westchester Square. Take a seat at table in left alcove. Ask waiter for card of Cornelius Woodbridge, Junior.
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