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"Ah, it is so simple," sighed Rouquin, looking upon Mr. Bingle with pity in his eyes. "Can you not see? So long as my wife was alive I could not be married. Is that not plain to you? Then she dies. Quick! Instantly I am married. Voila! It is so simple." Mr. Bingle comprehended at last. "I see. You have had a wife in Paris all these years, eh?" "Mon Dieu!
After that well, they could then go about it quite happily, if needs be. Mr. Bingle was deeply distressed. Rouquin had quite a surprise for them when they called at the bank for him. As he settled himself gracefully in the seat beside Mrs.
Among nations there was none like the English. She did not see them herself. She was ill. The rouquin had told her that she was ill when she was not ill, but lo! the next day she was ill oh, a long time. The rouquin told her the news battle of the Marne and all species of glorious deeds. An old fat Belgian told her a different kind of news.
Rouquin leaped forward and snatched the squalling Napoleon from Mrs. Bingle's arms, and an instant later deposited him in those of his maternal grandmother, who in almost the same instant was pushed rudely out of the room. The door was quickly closed. Napoleon's howls receded. "Now," said Rouquin, "we may talk in peace. My faithful old servant, Madame," he went on, turning to Mrs.
The rouquin would not come. He said he was an American citizen and had all his papers. For the rest, the captain would not let him come, though doubtless the captain could have been bribed. As they left the harbour, with other trawlers, they could see the quays all covered with the disappointed, waiting.
"Monsieur jests," was all that Rouquin could say. He wiped his brow, however. "Well, when may we see the child? When can we talk it over with the parents?" "That is for you to say, sir." "To-morrow afternoon?" "I shall so arrange it, sir.
Her husband, poor as he was, sustained the credit of aristocracy by smoking innumerable cigarettes, with which he appeared to be most plentifully supplied. "You found my cigarettes, I see. That is good," said Rouquin, shortly after the introductions. He spoke somewhat tartly, as if an idea had just occurred to him. He shot a furtive glance at Mr. Bingle as he made the remark.
In trying to board the steamers people were drowned. They fell into the water and nobody troubled so said the old woman. Christine was better; desired to rise. The rouquin said No, not yet. He would believe naught. And now he believed one thing, and it filled his mind that German submarines sank all refugee ships in the North Sea. Proof of the folly of leaving Ostend.
Bingle," cried Rouquin, "pray have no thought of Napoleon's comfort on this occasion. I shall insist upon Madame Rousseau leaving him here in my humble dwelling until called for. That is to say, in charge of my wonderful Fifi, who will care for him completely during her absence. He shall have a stupendous supper and he shall be put to bed happy.
Rouquin coughed violently, and, upon recovering himself, went on with a slight modification of his rapture: "Whatever should come of this day's work, we should all drink deeply to the health, prosperity and fame of a future president of the United States Napoleon Bingle!
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