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Updated: June 8, 2025
It's my patron saint's day, and I'm standing the racket." Simonne and Clarisse had gone off with a great rustling of skirts. Everybody was swallowed up in the distance, and when the passage door had banged with its usual hollow sound a fresh hail shower was heard beating against the windows in the now-silent greenroom.
We may take it that Simonne Evrard loved him, for a more impassioned obituary speech was, mayhap, never spoken than the one which she delivered before the National Assembly in honour of that sinister demagogue, whose writings and activities will for ever sully some of the really fine pages of that revolutionary era. But with those apologists we have naught to do.
He was sitting on a bench covered with green velvet, with his head against the wall. But Simonne said that it was one's duty to consider Mme Bron's small perquisites. She clapped her hands excitedly and devoured Fontan with her gaze while his long goatlike visage kept up a continuous twitching of eyes and nose and mouth. "Oh, that Fontan!" she murmured. "There's no one like him, no one like him!"
"That dirty Bismarck there's another cad for you!" Maria Blond remarked. "To think that I should have known him!" cried Simonne. "If only I could have foreseen, I'm the one that would have put some poison in his glass." But Blanche, on whose heart the expulsion of her Prussian still weighed, ventured to defend Bismarck. Perhaps he wasn't such a bad sort. To every man his trade!
He was visibly much at his ease, as became a man who knew all the snug corners, and had grown quite merry in the close dressing room, where people might have been bathing, and amid those quietly immodest feminine surroundings which the uncleanness of the little place rendered at once natural and poignant. "D'you go with the old boy?" Simonne asked Clarisse in a whisper.
"Well now," continued the portress when she had served the supers, "is it the little dark chap out there you want?" "No, no; don't be silly!" said Simonne. "It's the lanky one by the side of the stove. Your cat's sniffing at his trouser legs!"
Simonne and Clarisse were discussing the dead woman's diamonds in low tones. Well, did they really exist those diamonds? Nobody had seen them; it must be a bit of humbug. But Lea de Horn knew someone who knew all about them. Oh, they were monster stones!
"Rather!" replied the latter aloud. The dresser, a very ugly and extremely familiar young girl, who was helping Simonne into her coat, positively writhed with laughter. The three pushed each other and babbled little phrases which redoubled their merriment. "Come, Clarisse, kiss the gentleman," said Fauchery. "You know, he's got the rhino." And turning to the count: "You'll see, she's very nice!
At that very moment the callboy was opening the door. "Monsieur Bosc!" he called. "Mademoiselle Simonne!" Simonne flung a fur-lined pelisse briskly over her shoulders and went out. Bosc, without hurrying at all, went and got his crown, which he settled on his brow with a rap.
At the Varietes they were giving the thirty-fourth performance of the Blonde Venus. The first act had just finished, and in the greenroom Simonne, dressed as the little laundress, was standing in front of a console table, surmounted by a looking glass and situated between the two corner doors which opened obliquely on the end of the dressing-room passage.
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