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Updated: May 25, 2025
Amelie had seen the handsome head of the mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the Imperial eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them through the crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin came in, much earlier than usual. "Mademoiselle Ginevra," he said, after glancing round the studio, "why have you placed yourself there?
Whin I am servin' my time, I'm undher the Articles av War, an' can be whipped on the peg for thim. But whin I've served my time, I'm a Reserve man, an' the Articles av War haven't any hould on me. An orf'cer can't do anythin' to a time-expired savin' confinin' him to barricks. 'Tis a wise rig'lation, bekaze a time-expired does not have any barricks; bein' on the move all the time.
These men were full of patriotism a short time ago. They expected to be servin' their city, but when we tell them that we can't place them, do you think their patriotism is goin' to last? Not much. They say: "What's the use of workin' for your country anyhow? There's nothin' in the game." And what can they do? I don't know, but I'll tell you what I do know.
They nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, the other stood looking at the painting. The breathing of the soldier in the closet could be distinctly heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to notice it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra recognized it at once for wilful deafness. Presently the unknown man turned on his pallet.
Louis Servin, Councillor of State, Advocate-General of the Parliament of Paris, and one of the most able magistrates of his time, served with zeal and fidelity under Henri III, Henri IV, and Louis XIII. He died suddenly, at the feet of the latter monarch, on the 19th of March 1626, while remonstrating with him in the name of the Parliament, where he was holding his Bed of Justice, against certain financial edicts.
"You Blue Lights and Christians think yourselves so much better than everybody else, because you make so much talk about prayin' an' singin', an' doin' your duty, an' servin' God, an' submitting. It's all hypocrisy." "Don't you believe that Sergeant Hardy is a good soldier?" asked Stevenson. "Of course I do," replied Simkin, in some surprise at the question.
Ginevra, I am going away, never to return," cried the poor girl, sadly. "You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!" exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. "Haven't you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have been alone in the studio?" "True," said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection.
"Y-you, Dud Hollister an' Tom Reeves, I'm servin' a subpoena on you lads as w-witnesses at a w-weddin'," he said in the high wheeze that sounded so funny coming from his immense bulk. "Whose wedding?" demanded Reeves, a lank youth with a brick-red face, the nose of which had been broken. "N-none of yore darned business." "Do we get to kiss the bride?"
I'm the only one that your romance will harm. But the fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don't really see how we are to settle it with her." "Heavens! and I forgot to tell you," exclaimed Ginevra, "that Madame Roguin and Laure's mother are coming here to-morrow to " "I understand," said the painter.
"I hope they'll keep him there," muttered the little model suddenly. "They give him a month," said Creed. "Only a month!" The old butler looked at her. 'There's more stuff' in you, he seemed to say, 'than ever I had thought. "Because of his servin' of his country," he remarked aloud. "I'm sorry about the poor little baby," said the little model in her stolid voice.
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