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Updated: August 11, 2024
"It takes a hundred and twenty wax-candles," said Braschon. "A bill of two hundred francs at Trudon's," said Madame Cesar, whose murmurs were checked by a glance from the chevalier Birotteau. "Your ball will be magnificent, Monsieur le chevalier," said Braschon. Birotteau whispered to himself, "Flatterers already! The Abbe Loraux urged me not to fall into that net, but to keep myself humble.
"When we walk out together, won't they present arms?" "Yes, wherever there are sentries they will present arms." Just at this moment Grindot was coming downstairs with Braschon. It had been arranged that after dinner, monsieur, madame, and mademoiselle were to enjoy a first sight of the new appartement; Braschon's foreman was now nailing up the last brackets, and three men were lighting the rooms.
Give me the address of your cabinet-maker; I shall have to arrange with him about the choice of colors, so as to have everything in keeping." "Monsieur Braschon, Rue Saint-Antoine, takes my orders," said Birotteau, assuming a ducal air. The architect wrote down the address in one of those pretty note-books which invariably come from women.
"Braschon." "So you met the upholsterer?" "Yes." "You said you only went in carriages." "Yes, my dear, but to get carriages, you have to go and " "Pooh! I dare say Braschon was in the carriage, or the parlor was one or the other is equally probable." "You won't listen," exclaims Adolphe, who thinks that a long story will lull Caroline's suspicions. "I've listened too much already.
Braschon, the rich upholsterer of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, who was not invited to the ball, and was therefore stabbed in his self-love, sounded the charge; he insisted on being paid within twenty-four hours. He demanded security; not an attachment on the furniture, but a second mortgage on the property in the Faubourg du Temple.
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