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Updated: May 1, 2025
He subscribed to a music publishing house in Paris, and they sent him the latest music, and from time to time he sent invitations after this fashion to the elite of the town: "You are invited to be present on Monday evening at the house of M. Saval, notary, Vernon, at the first rendering of 'Sais." A few officers, gifted with good voices, formed the chorus. Two or three lady amateurs also sang.
Servigny took Saval's arm and drew him away: "That is the latest serious suitor, Prince Kravalow. Isn't she superb?" "To my mind they are both superb. The mother would suffice for me perfectly," answered Saval. Servigny nodded and said: "At your disposal, my dear boy." The dancers elbowed them aside, as they were forming for a quadrille. "Now let us go and see the sharpers," said Servigny.
How pretty she was formerly, so dainty, with fair curly hair, and always laughing. Sandres was not the man she should have chosen. She was now fifty-two years of age. She seemed happy. Ah! if she had only loved him in days gone by; yes, if she had only loved him! And why should she not have loved him, he, Saval, seeing that he loved her so much, yes, she, Madame Sandres!
A breath of fresh air came in, which he inhaled deeply. The thick darkness was silent, black, motionless. But suddenly he perceived before him, in the shadows of the garden, a shining point; it seemed a little red coal. "Well, a cigar!" he said to himself. "It must be Saval," and he called softly: "Leon!" "Is it you, Jean?" "Yes. Wait. I'll come down."
She then turned on her heels and went back to her jam-making. Saval rushed into the street, cast down, as though he had met with some disaster. He walked with giant strides through the rain, straight on, until he reached the river bank, without thinking where he was going. He then turned to the right and followed the river. He walked a long time, as if urged on by some instinct.
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.
Every time that a new work was interpreted at a big Parisian theatre M. Saval paid a visit to the capital. Now, last year, according to his custom, he went to hear Henri VIII. He then took the express which arrives in Paris at 4:30 P.M., intending to return by the 12:35 A.M. train, so as not to have to sleep at a hotel.
M. Saval accepted the invitation with enthusiasm, reflecting: "I shall have time enough to see Henri VIII." Both of them had finished their meal. The notary insisted on paying the two bills, wishing to repay his neighbor's civilities. He also paid for the drinks of the young fellows in red velvet; then he left the establishment with the painter.
The little woman on the landing-stage looked at me as I went off with an air of disappointment, while my persecutor rubbed his hands and whispered to me: "You must acknowledge that I have done you a great service." Mattre Saval, notary at Vernon, was passionately fond of music.
The little servant went away, and Saval began to walk, with long, nervous strides, up and down the drawing-room. He did not feel in the least embarrassed, however. Oh! he was merely going to ask her something, as he would have asked her about some cooking recipe. He was sixty-two years of age! The door opened and madame appeared.
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