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Updated: May 28, 2025
After having passed half an hour at the counter, eating and drinking of the best, I returned to the crowd and saw my fair stocking-seller talking to Count Volpati. He had seen her with me, and hastened to enquire my name of her. However, she was faithful to our mutual promise, and told him I was her husband, though the Venetian did not seem to give the least credence to this piece of information.
I was curious to see who it could be, and not wishing to speak before I knew her, I had the patience to wait till she lifted her mask, and this occurred at the end of an hour. What was my surprise to see Madame Baret, the stocking-seller of the Rue St. Honor& My love awoke from its long sleep, and coming up to her I said, in a falsetto voice, "I am your friend of the 'Hotel d'Elbeuf."
Cotenfau, with M. de Polignac, which took place five or six years later, was the result of our cabalistic calculations. The fair stocking-seller of the Rue des Prouveres, whom I had loved so well, was no longer in Paris. She had gone off with a M. de Langlade, and her husband was inconsolable. Camille was ill.
But it was the following comic adventure which made me spend the night at Morat: I found at the inn a young maid who spoke a sort of rustic Italian. She struck me by her great likeness to my fair stocking-seller at Paris. She was called Raton, a name which my memory has happily preserved.
I recollected the circumstance, and the reader will remember that I was with Madame Baret, the fair stocking-seller. "Now I remember you," said I; "but I do not recognize your aunt." "This is the sister of the one you saw, but if you will take tea with us you will see her." "Where do you live?" "In Denmark Street, Soho." The Charpillon Dreadful Consequences of My Acquaintance With Her
After having passed half an hour at the counter, eating and drinking of the best, I returned to the crowd and saw my fair stocking-seller talking to Count Volpati. He had seen her with me, and hastened to enquire my name of her. However, she was faithful to our mutual promise, and told him I was her husband, though the Venetian did not seem to give the least credence to this piece of information.
I was curious to see who it could be, and not wishing to speak before I knew her, I had the patience to wait till she lifted her mask, and this occurred at the end of an hour. What was my surprise to see Madame Baret, the stocking-seller of the Rue St. Honor& My love awoke from its long sleep, and coming up to her I said, in a falsetto voice, "I am your friend of the 'Hotel d'Elbeuf."
Cotenfau, with M. de Polignac, which took place five or six years later, was the result of our cabalistic calculations. The fair stocking-seller of the Rue des Prouveres, whom I had loved so well, was no longer in Paris. She had gone off with a M. de Langlade, and her husband was inconsolable. Camille was ill.
I recollected the circumstance, and the reader will remember that I was with Madame Baret, the fair stocking-seller. "Now I remember you," said I; "but I do not recognize your aunt." "This is the sister of the one you saw, but if you will take tea with us you will see her." "Where do you live?" "In Denmark Street, Soho." The Charpillon Dreadful Consequences of My Acquaintance With Her
But it was the following comic adventure which made me spend the night at Morat: I found at the inn a young maid who spoke a sort of rustic Italian. She struck me by her great likeness to my fair stocking-seller at Paris. She was called Raton, a name which my memory has happily preserved.
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