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Updated: June 11, 2025
He found that he was in no condition to do so. His clothes had disappeared. He blurted out: "Madame, I Then he remembered. What was he to do? He asked: "Did Monsieur Romantin come back?" The doorkeeper shouted: "Will you take your dirty carcass out of this, so that he at any rate may not catch you here?"
He went to the back of the easel, on which there was a canvas representing a cat, and seized a very worn-out broom. "I say! Just brush up while I look after the lighting." M. Saval took the broom, inspected it, and then began to sweep the floor very awkwardly, raising a whirlwind of dust. Romantin, disgusted, stopped him: "Deuce take it! you don't know how to sweep the floor! Look at me!"
Romantin went over to her, and tried to take her by the hands. "Mathilde " But she was now fairly under way; and on she went, emptying the vials of her wrath with strong words and reproaches. They flowed out of her mouth like, a stream sweeping a heap of filth along with it. The words pouring forth seemed struggling for exit.
M. Saval had not even moved; he did not understand. The artist came over to him. "Since I have invited you, you will assist ma about something." The notary said emphatically: "Make any use of me you please. I am at your disposal." Romantin took off his jacket. "Well, citizen, to work! We are first going to clean up."
And he carried off Mathilde, who kept drying her eyes with her handkerchief as she went along. Left to himself, M. Saval succeeded in putting everything around him in order. Then he lighted the wax-candles, and waited. He waited for a quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour. Romantin did not return.
Romantin went over to her, and tried to take her by the hands. "Mathilde " But she was now fairly under way; and on she went, emptying the vials of her wrath with strong words and reproaches. They flowed out of her mouth like, a stream sweeping a heap of filth along with it. The words pouring forth seemed struggling for exit.
The painter answered: "I am the very person, monsieur." The notary then paid the artist a very well-turned compliment, showing that he was a man of culture. The painter, gratified, thanked him politely in reply. Then they chattered. Romantin returned to the subject of his house-warming, going into details as to the magnificence of the forthcoming entertainment.
They sat around him to listen to him; they greeted him with words of applause, and called him Scheherazade. Romantin did not return. Other guests arrived. M. Saval was presented to them so that he might begin his story over again. He declined; they forced him to relate it. They seated and tied him on one of three chairs between two women who kept constantly filling his glass.
He went to the back of the easel, on which there was a canvas representing a cat, and seized a very worn-out broom. "I say! Just brush up while I look after the lighting." M. Saval took the broom, inspected it, and then began to sweep the floor very awkwardly, raising a whirlwind of dust. Romantin, disgusted, stopped him: "Deuce take it! you don't know how to sweep the floor! Look at me!"
The door was opened brusquely. A woman appeared, her eyes flashing, and remained standing on the threshold. Romantin gazed at her with a look of terror. She waited some seconds, crossing her arms over her breast, and then in a shrill, vibrating, exasperated voice said: "Ha! you dirty scoundrel, is this the way you leave me?" Romantin made no reply. She went on: "Ha! you scoundrel!
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