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Updated: June 13, 2025
She happened to be in a Broadway manicure shop one day when she heard a woman talking with the manicurist about fall styles, and she was all attention when she heard the customer say, 'You remember Mademoiselle Violette's that place that had the exquisite things straight from Paris, and so cheaply, too?
Thus the "beards," absorbed by such grave speculations, did not trouble themselves about the vanity called literature, and did not care a pin for Amedee Violette's book. Among the long-haired ones, however, we repeat, the emotion was great. They were furious, they were agitated, and bristled up; the first enthusiasm over Amedee Violette's verses could not be lasting and had been only a mere flash.
"And the dog, where is he?" Violet turned in every direction and called softly: "Ami! Ami!" No dog appeared. "Alas! Ami has gone! Poor Violette is alone alone!" Ourson took Violette's hand and she did not withdraw it but smiled sweetly. "Shall I go and seek mamma, Violette?" "No, no! Violette cannot stay all alone in this wood. Violette will go." "Come, then, with me, dear little girl.
How could he console himself for such lost happiness? He had his son, yes and he loved him very much but the sight of Amedee increased M. Violette's grief; for the child grew to look more like his mother every day. Three or four times a year M. Violette, accompanied by his son, paid a visit to an uncle of his deceased wife, whose heir Amedee might some day become.
In the first place, they could not do otherwise; secondly, she was never afraid with Ourson and always thought that what he decided to do was right. Ourson now arranged Violette's bed of moss in the best possible manner, took off his coat and in spite of her resistance spread it over her.
This role of an old workman, offered to Jocquelet by Amedee, obtained only a grimace of displeasure from the actor. However, it ended by his being reconciled to the part, studying it, and, to use his own expression, "racking his brains over it," until one day he ran to Violette's, all excited, exclaiming: "I have the right idea of my old man now!
You know that style of lid ain't worn a great deal by our Broadway stenogs. Not the home crocheted kind. Hardly. I should judge that most of our flossy bunch wouldn't be satisfied until they'd swapped two weeks' salary for some Paris model up at Mme. Violette's.
She had much applauded M. Violette's beautiful verse, she said, that Jocquelet had recited at her house on the last Thursday of her season; and she had just read with the greatest pleasure his Poems from Nature. She thanked M. Papillon who bows his head and lets his monocle fall for having brought M. Violette. She was charmed to make his acquaintance.
For one month now Amedee Violette's volume of verses, entitled Poems from Nature, had embellished with its pale-blue covers the shelves of the book-shops. The commotion raised by the book's success, and the favorable criticisms given by the journals, had not yet calmed down at the Cafe de Seville. This emotion, let it be understood, did not exist except among the literary men.
"Hush! hush! poor Ourson," exclaimed Violette, putting her little hand on his mouth; "Violette will certainly never make you cry again." While saying these words Violette's voice was trembling and her sweet eyes were full of tears. "Good little girl!" said Agnella, embracing her; "you love our poor Ourson, who is so unhappy!" "Oh, yes! Violette loves Ourson will always love Ourson!"
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