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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Good-bye, Frantz," said Suzel. "Good-bye, Suzel," replied Frantz. And, after the door had been closed, the young man resumed the way to his father's house with a calm and equal pace. The agitation caused by the Schut and Custos affair had subsided. The affair led to no serious consequences.
Green tufts of grass bordered the shining pavement, and no one would have thought of tearing them away, for they deadened the noise made by the passers-by. As they were about to open the door, Frantz thought it his duty to say to Suzel, "You know, Suzel, the great day is approaching?" "It is indeed, Frantz," replied the young girl, with downcast eyes. "Yes," said Frantz, "in five or six years "
A mouse would not have made less noise, running over a thick carpet. The door of the room opened, turning on its well-oiled hinges. A young girl, with long blonde tresses, made her appearance. It was Suzel Van Tricasse, the burgomaster's only daughter.
"I shall not fail to do so," returned Van Tricasse, "and I shall take Madame Van Tricasse, as well as our daughter Suzel and our dear Tatanémance, who all dote on good music." "Mademoiselle Suzel is going then?" "Certainly, Niklausse." "Then my son Frantz will be one of the first to arrive," said Niklausse. "A spirited boy, Niklausse," replied the burgomaster sententiously; "but hot-headed!
"But do not forget to strike at the right moment. You are always a few seconds too late, and the barbel takes advantage to escape." "Would you like to take my line, Suzel?" "Willingly, Frantz." "Then give me your canvas. We shall see whether I am more adroit with the needle than with the hook."
Our readers know that the burgomaster had a daughter, Suzel But, shrewd as they may be, they cannot have divined that the counsellor Niklausse had a son, Frantz; and had they divined this, nothing could have led them to imagine that Frantz was the betrothed lover of Suzel.
Reichenbach, the doyenne of the Comedie Francaise, as Suzel. Of this charming artist Sarcey wrote that, having attained her sixteenth year, there she made the long-stop, never oldening with others. L'Ami Fritz is, in reality, a German bucolic, the scene being laid in Bavaria. But it has long been accepted as a classic, and on the stage it becomes thoroughly French.
The limpid Vaar murmured a few feet below them. Suzel quietly drew her needle across the canvas. Frantz automatically carried his line from left to right, then permitted it to descend the current from right to left. The fish made capricious rings in the water, which crossed each other around the cork, while the hook hung useless near the bottom.
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