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Updated: June 15, 2025
The Chevalier's suggestion was so unexpected as to disturb him. He quickly recovered his poise, however. "You have lost. It is a letter to my good sister, advising her of my departure to Quebec. Spain is too near Paris, Paul." "You, Victor?" cried the Chevalier, while Breton's face grew warm with regard for Monsieur de Saumaise. "Yes. Victor loves his neck.
It is fully as handsome as the grey one. All it lacks is the square collar you invented." "Ah well, since there is no grey cloak. Now the gossip. First of all, my debts and debtors." "Monsieur de Saumaise," said Breton, "has remitted the ten louis he lost to you at tennis." "There's a friend; ruined himself to do it. Poetry and improvidence; how they cling together!"
"Monsieur," he asked, "are you related to the poet De Saumaise?" The youth lifted his head, disclosing an embarrassed smile. "Yes, Monsieur. I have the ill-luck to be that very person." "Then I am doubly glad to meet you. While in Paris I heard your praises sung not infrequently." The poet held up a protesting hand. "You overwhelm me, Monsieur.
"I have been surrounded by lies ever since I stepped foot in Rochelle. I shall kill Monsieur de Saumaise a week hence." "And you do not wish satisfaction from me?" slyly. A fury leaped into D'Hérouville's eyes, but suddenly died away. "I am living only with that end in view. It was very clever of you to make them think you were taking up the Chevalier's cause. You hoodwinked them nicely."
Sophocles, Euripides, Plautus and Terence, the Diodorus of Sicily and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, St John Chrysostom and St Basil, St Jerome and St Augustine, Erasmus, Saumaise, Turnebe and Scaliger, St Thomas Aquinas, St Bonaventure, Bossuet dragging Ferri with him, Lenain, Godefroy, Mezeray, Maimbourg, Fabricius, Father Lelong and Father Pitou, all the poets, all the historians, all the fathers, all the doctors, all the theologians, all the humanists, all the compilers, assembled high and low on the walls, became witnesses to our kisses.
There was cunning in the lips and caution in the brow; but the face was too mutable. "The Comte d'Hérouville!" exclaimed the vicomte. "Saumaise, this looks bad. He is not a man to run away like you and me." The new-comer spoke to the innkeeper, who raised his index finger and leveled it at Victor and the vicomte. On seeing them, D'Hérouville came over quickly.
He exaggerates the foibles of Salmasius, his vanity, and the vanity of Madame de Saumaise, her ascendancy over her husband, his narrow pedantry, his ignorance of everything but grammar and words. He exhausts the Latin vocabulary of abuse to pile up every epithet of contumely and execration on the head of his adversary.
"Indeed!" replied the vicomte coolly; "and how do you account for that?" He spoke with that good nature which deceives only those who are not banterers themselves. "It is not necessary to particularize," proudly, "to a gentleman of your wide accomplishments." "Monsieur de Saumaise, your servant," said the vicomte. "Ladies, I beg of you to accept my apologies.
There was quiet in his breast, peace on his boyish face. "Come, Anne," said madame softly. "Let me watch," said Anne. "I have always loved him." They buried Victor under the hill, at the foot of a kingly pine where a hawk had builded his eery home. A loving hand had carved upon the tree these words: "Here lies Victor de Saumaise, a brave and gallant Frenchman, a poet, a gentleman, and soldier.
"We shall probably come together," said Victor. "And I was just telling him, Vicomte," put in the Chevalier, "to decline to measure foils with so hardy a swordsman as yourself. You are taller, your weight is greater, and your reach is longer. How monotonous to lie here, weak and useless!" "Monsieur de Saumaise may withdraw with all honor," said the vicomte.
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