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Updated: May 22, 2025
Really, it's too bad to burden you with my melancholy." "Ah! my old friend, you can arrange just such happiness as ours for yourself," said honest Sigismond with beaming face. "I have my sister, you have your brother. What do we lack?" Risler smiled vaguely. He fancied himself already installed with Frantz in a quiet little quakerish house like that.
By the way, this Madame Dobson was another most excellent creature. There was just one thing that disturbed poor Risler, that was his incomprehensible misunderstanding with Sigismond. Perhaps Frantz could help him to clear up that mystery.
"It is the husband's fault," would be the verdict of "Mademoiselle Planus, my sister." "It is the wife's fault," "Monsieur Planus, my brother," would reply. "Oh! the men " "Oh! the women " That was their one never-failing subject of discussion in those rare hours of idleness which old Sigismond set aside in his busy day, which was as carefully ruled off as his account-books.
They established themselves in one of the large salons on the first floor, whence they could see the green trees, the promenaders, and the water spurting from the fountain between the two melancholy flower- gardens. To Sigismond it was the ideal of luxury, that restaurant, with gilding everywhere, around the mirrors, in the chandelier and even on the figured wallpaper.
In fact, since his unaccountable falling-out with Sigismond, since the cashier had adopted that attitude of cold silence toward him, he had avoided meeting him. His wounded friendship had always led him to shun an explanation; he had a sort of pride in not asking Planus why he bore him ill-will.
"Kiss her," she said softly; and as they stood there side by side, their heads leaning over the child, Georges was afraid of waking her, and he embraced the mother passionately. "Ah! here's Sigismond. How goes the world, Pere Sigismond? How is business? Is it good with you?"
'dame', yes, he's quite a dashing buck, that fellow." Being decidedly indifferent to heroism of that stamp, Risler and Sigismond were drinking their beer without paying much attention to the music, when, at the end of the song, amid the applause and cries and uproar that followed it, Pere Planus uttered an exclamation: "Why, that is odd; one would say but no, I'm not mistaken.
Nonsense! it would make Madame What-d'ye-call-her, yonder, too happy. On the contrary, I mean to live to live with my Frantz, and for him, and for nothing else." "Bravo!" said Sigismond, "that's the way I like to hear you talk." At that moment Mademoiselle Planus came to say that the room was ready. Risler apologized for the trouble he was causing them. "You are so comfortable, so happy here.
"It is the husband's fault," would be the verdict of "Mademoiselle Planus, my sister." "It is the wife's fault," "Monsieur Planus, my brother," would reply. "Oh! the men " "Oh! the women " That was their one never-failing subject of discussion in those rare hours of idleness which old Sigismond set aside in his busy day, which was as carefully ruled off as his account-books.
"Look!" said he, "it is a letter that he is holding so tight." He was about to read it; but one of the officers took it from his hands and passed it to Sigismond, who was still kneeling. "Here, Monsieur. Perhaps you will find in this some last wish to be carried out." Sigismond Planus rose.
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