United States or Ukraine ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
If it had not been for the culinary skill of Noel the cook, the famous Atheist physician Lametrie would not have died of indigestion, for the pie he succeeded in eating in his extremity was made by Noel. Lametrie often supped with Madame Rufin and I thought it disobliging of him to die so soon, for I should have liked to know him, as he was a learned man and full of mirth.
"What do you want with me, Pedro Rufin?" demanded Don Manuel, who now showed himself at one of the upper windows; "and what is the meaning of this assemblage of armed men?" "The meaning is," replied Rufin, "that I have been detached from the division of his Excellency General Merino, to demand from you a certain quantity of maize or barley, or both, for the service of his Majesty King Charles V."
"Oh, him!" replied Papa Musard, sinking back on his pillow. "M'sieur Rufin, this is the last time I shall appeal to you. Before long I shall again be in the presence of the great master, of Corot, of him who " Rufin, it seemed, had lost all respect both for Corot and death. He waved an imperious arm, over which his cloak flapped like a black wing.
I could not travel without a servant, and chance kindly provided me with one. I was sitting with Madame Rufin, when a young Lorrainer came in; like Bias, he bore all his fortune with him, but, in his case, it was carried under his arm. He introduced himself thus: "Madam, my name is Lambert, I come from Lorraine, and I wish to lodge here."
He has been in prison, too, and he bellows insults at his elders and betters when they pass him on the stairs. He is a man of no soul!" "Yes," said Rufin. "But did you say he had been in prison?" "I did," affirmed Musard. "Ask anyone. It is not that I abuse him; he is, in fact, a criminal. Once he threw an egg at a gendarme.
Rufin resigned himself to the inevitable; and, although he was burning with eagerness to find the painter of the picture he had recently seen, to welcome him into the sunlight of fame and success, he bent his mind to the interview with Papa Musard. "I have had my part in the development of Art," the invalid was saying at the end of three-quarters of an hour.
Rufin saw them salute him, and removed his hat. Somebody was speaking. "Regret we cannot leave you alone, but " "It does not matter," said Rufin. The room was raw and aching with light; the big electrics were pitiless. In the middle of it a man sat on a chair and raised expectant eyes at his arrival. It was Giaconi, the painter, the murderer.
But, O squire! how could you stay from us so long, and let us be tempted by that fiend of the pit, Rufinn? we should have followed you through flood and fire, to be sure. 'Rufin! I assure you, Houghton, you have been vilely imposed upon. 'I often thought so, said Houghton,'though they showed us your very seal; and so Tims was shot and I was reduced to the ranks.
"Then it is very fortunate that I am not late," said Rufin politely, accepting it. "But how did you know me?" The boy he was aged perhaps twelve gave a sophisticated shrug. "Monsieur Musard said: 'At one o'clock there will approach an artist with the airs of a gentleman. That is he." Rufin laughed and opened the note.
Rufin was not certain whether Musard lived on the fourth floor or the fifth, and would have been glad to inquire, but he had not the courage to prod that slumbering bulk, and was careful to edge past without touching it. The grimy stair led him upward to find out for himself.
Word Of The Day