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"Was it there on the night of 22 June?" "Yes." "What did it contain?" "Everything that the Varin brothers had put in it a very pretty collection of diamonds and pearls picked up here and there by the said brothers." "And did you take it?" "Of course I did. Do you blame me?" "I understand....it was the disappearance of that casket that caused my brother to kill himself." "Probably.
After a long struggle, and painful hesitation, he put the figure down onto the table. "No, it is too dear," he said. The shop-keeper's eloquence redoubled. "Oh! Monsieur Varin, too dear? It is worth two thousand francs, if it is worth a son." But the man of letters replied sadly, still looking at the figure with the enameled eyes: "I do not say it is not; but it is too dear for me."
"But I accuse him of both, and of all the mob has done!" thundered Varin, enraged to hear the Intendant speak with moderation and justice. "The house of the Golden Dog is a den of traitors; it ought to be pulled down, and its stones built into a monument of infamy over its owner, hung like a dog in the market-place." "Silence, Varin!" exclaimed the Governor sternly.
It is improbable that the Varin brothers would have removed from a spot, which they deemed inaccessible, the weapon which was so valuable to them." And he continued to search. In a short time, the large room held no more secrets for him, so he extended his investigations to the other rooms.
"He has not seen them, but Alfred Varin has told him of their existence and threatened to publish them if my husband should take any steps against him. My husband was afraid....of a scandal." "But he has tried to recover the letters?" "I think so; but I do not know.
"La Friponne!" cried he; "I have drunk success to her with all my heart and throat; but I say she will never wear a night-cap and sleep quietly in our arms until we muzzle the Golden Dog that barks by night and by day in the Rue Buade." "That is true, Morin!", interrupted Varin. "The Grand Company will never know peace until we send the Bourgeois, his master, back to the Bastille.
De Beauce was irritated at the mocking sign and the proverbial allusion to the gaping of the people of Beauce. He started up in wrath, and striking his fist on the table, "Monsieur Varin!" cried he, "do not cross your thumbs at me, or I will cut them off! Let me tell you the gentlemen of Beauce do not breakfast on gaping, but have plenty of corn to stuff even a Commissary of Montreal!"
"Well said, Varin!" exclaimed Bigot; "that toast implied both business and pleasure: the business was to sweep out the granges of the farmers; the pleasure is to drink in honor of your success." "My foragers sweep clean!" said Varin, resuming his seat, and looking under his hand to steady his gaze. "Better brooms were never made in Besancon. The country is swept as clean as a ball-room.
"'What ails them, Peter?" said Cathelineau, catching hold of the arm of a man who had followed him from St. Florent, "if they advance they will be destroyed at Varin;" and as he spoke, he leapt upon the top of one of the waggons laden with provisions, which had come from Durbelliere.
His subjects were the beautiful scenes around Andelys; and, despite of his inexperience, he knew so well how to transfer the living poetry of the scenery to his canvas, that his master one day said to him: 'Nicholas, why have you deceived me? you must have learned painting before. 'I assure you I have not. 'Then, said Varin, 'I am not fit to be thy master.
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