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Updated: June 13, 2025
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.
Was Amedee not dreaming? He, poor Violette's son, the little office clerk his book would be published, and in a month! Readers and unknown friends will be moved by his agitation, will suffer in his suspense; young people will love him and find an echo of their sentiments in his verses; women will dreamily repeat with one finger in his book some favorite verse that touches their hearts!
She ran to the house to apprise Agnella and they both ran rapidly toward the stream from which the cries for help seemed to come. On approaching, they saw with surprise and alarm that Violette and Ourson were lying on the ground in a state of unconsciousness. Passerose placed her hand on Violette's heart and felt it still beating.
No matter! they are good friends, and that is enough to help them endure it." Then, shaking hands with Amedee, she climbed lightly up into the carriage. All that day at the office Amedee was uneasy about his father, and about four o'clock, a little before the time for his departure, he went to M. Violette's office.
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.
Round whisked my two dragoons and galloped for their lives, with the moon gleaming on their brass helmets, while I trotted up to my friends with no undue haste, for I would have them understand that though a hussar may fly, it is not in his nature to fly very fast. Yet I fear that Violette's heaving flanks and foam-spattered muzzle gave the lie to my careless bearing.
As a reward for passing his examinations in law, Madame Roger took her son with her on a trip to Italy, and they had just left France together. As to the poor Gerards, just one month after M. Violette's death, the old engraver died suddenly, of apoplexy, at his work; and on that day there were not fifty francs in the house.
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.
Passerose put an end to it by crying out: "Would not one say ha! ha! that we were the most ha! ha! unfortunate people ha! ha! in the universe! Look at our poor Ourson, wet as a water-reed, bathing himself in his own and Violette's tears. Courage, children, courage and happiness! See, we are all alive, thanks to Ourson."
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.
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