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Updated: June 15, 2025
Then the best of every wardrobe was put on, the sun soared high, and by noon every chair in Grande Pointe was in the tobacco-shed where knowledge poured forth her beams, and was occupied by one or two persons. And then, at last, the chapel bell above Claude's head pealed out the final signal, and the schoolmaster moved across the green. Bonaventure Deschamps was weary. Had aught gone wrong?
With a velocity which must have startled the grave and leisurely servant, I precipitated myself out of the house and back into the fiacre, which happily had not gone away. I told the cabman to drive to my hotel at his best speed. To me Deschamps' letter was in the highest degree suspicious. Rosa, of course, with the simplicity of a heart incapable of any baseness, had accepted it in perfect faith.
The golden age of French literature, as Gaston Deschamps and Brunetiere have lately told us, was that of the salon, when conversation dominated letters, set fashions, and made the charm of French style. Its lowest ebb was when bookishness led and people began to talk as they wrote.
Deschamps was no more dying than I was; her eyes burned with the lust of homicide, and with uplifted twitching hands she advanced like a tiger, and Rosa retreated before her to the middle of the room. Then there was the click of a spring, and a square of the centre of the floor, with Rosa standing upon it, swiftly descended into the room where we were.
She went on with emphasis: "Rosetta Rosa will never be allowed to sing in 'Carmen' at the Opéra Comique. Do you understand?" "Great Scott!" I said, "I believe you must be Carlotta Deschamps." It was a half-humorous inspiration on my part, but the remark produced an immediate effect on the woman, for she walked away with a highly theatrical scowl and toss of the head.
"You were willing to betray your mistress?" "Deschamps swore it would do no real harm. Do I not tell you that Deschamps and I always liked each other? We were old friends. I sympathized with her; she is growing old." "How much did she promise to pay you?" "Not a sou not a centime. I swear it." The girl stamped her foot and threw up her head, reddening with the earnestness of her disclaimer.
"An English Deschamps!" cried the English guests, pleased with the conceit. "Long may his line endure." "A traitor Deschamps!" said a voice instinct with wrath. "Unhappy man, your taint is in him!" The revelers shrank back appalled, as from the shadows came the unbidden guest and stood among them, his mien majestic with the dignity of sorrow.
It smouldered, only it was very hot underneath. And I can understand Lord Clarenceux was so handsome and so rich, the most fine stern man I ever saw. He used to give me hundred-franc notes." "Never mind the notes. Why has Deschamps' jealousy revived so suddenly just recently?" "Why? Because mademoiselle would come back to the Opéra Comique. Deschamps could not suffer that.
Every well appointed lady was supposed to own a copy, and there is a little verse by Eustache Deschamps, a poet of the time of Charles V., in which a woman is supposed to be romancing about the various treasures she would like to possess.
It had been made vulgar! In consequence of having become so cheap the grand title of "knight" was degraded. Eustace Deschamps, in his fine, straightforward way, states the scandal boldly and "lashes" it with his tongue. He says: "Picture to yourself the fact that the degree of knighthood is about to be conferred now upon babies of eight and ten years old."
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