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Updated: June 24, 2025
"I know you do, M. Plon, if only for the sake of my poor husband," said Marie demurely. To say the truth she was often in a state of uncomfortable doubt as to whether M. Plon's interest might not be going to take a warmer form, in which case it might be more difficult than ever for Jean to forget that he was no longer in the land of the living.
This explains your unwillingness that I should return with you. Who's the man?" "My husband, monsieur," sobbed Marie, springing up and putting her hand in Jean's. "How came he here?" "Monsieur, he escaped and crawled here." "And how has he been supported?" "By me," said the wife simply. Plon had recoiled during this explanation, and gazed helplessly from one to the other.
Now that is kind of you, but it is disarranging yourself too much to climb up those steep stairs, when I could have fetched it with pleasure." "Ugh, ugh, they are steep, there's no denying it," said Plon, sinking into the rickety chair. "But what would you have? Up here on the sixth, you can't expect all the luxuries of the first or second." "Heavens, no!"
It is clear enough that this belongs to the haute pègre, none of your common burglars would have attempted such a daring stroke; and I would lay a wager, too, that they're not so far off from here, if they're in Paris, that is. I shall keep a sharp look-out, for the reward is fabulous." "Really!" said Madame Didier with a sigh. "One would suppose you wanted it yourself," said Plon angrily.
The investigations of M. J. A. Le Roi, given in his interesting work, "Curiosites Historiques sur Louis XIII., Louis XIV., Louis XV.," etc., Paris, Plon, 1864, have thrown fresh light upon the matter. Most of the girls left it only when about to be confined, and it sometimes stood vacant for five or six months.
I do not think the translation of a French book on Political Economy is prima facie advisable. Published by Plon. No one who knew Sir Richard Wallace could believe that he wrote 'The Englishman in Paris. I said from the first that it was a mere collection of old gossip to be passed off on the English public as something racy.
At any rate I will do what you bid me," the young wife said, trembling. "There is a bureau not so far away. Only promise me you will be prudent, for I must leave Périne here, though I will lock the door. Remember, M. Plon has his own keys." Nor would she relax one of her precautions in spite of his heated impatience.
But Périne screamed and Plon waved him energetically back. Finding his prisoner cowed he launched some strong invectives at him. "You're a thief and a cut-throat, that's what you are!" he said, shivering. "Keep off, keep off! You could no more stand in Jean Didier's shoes than you could in mine, for he was a decent, peaceable young fellow, and more than that, he was shot.
No one knew to whom the furniture belonged, some curious speculators avowing that Plon had a child a girl at school in Normandy, and had collected it as part of her dowry; others that some mysterious tie of gratitude bound him to the owner. Whoever was right or wrong, the rooms remained closed and unlet. The garret itself was inhabited by a young widow, whose story was sufficiently sad.
"Meanwhile, perhaps it might be as well for me to tell you who I am." "Who you are?" repeated M. Plon indignantly. "It's easy enough to see that, my fine fellow, though what you could expect to steal here is not so clear. You've got the air of a gallows bird, and it's well this poor child has me the brave Plon to protect her." "Come, come, M. Plon listen to reason.
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