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Updated: June 29, 2025
The four living fellows looked at each other in rather a ghastly fashion; the dead man contemplating a corner of the roof with a singular and ugly leer. "My God!" said Tabary; and he began to pray in Latin. Villon broke out into hysterical laughter. He came a step forward and ducked a ridiculous bow at Thevenin, and laughed still louder.
About the first there clung some flavor of good birth and training, as about a fallen angel; something long, lithe, and courtly in the person; something aquiline and darkling in the face. Thevenin, poor soul, was in great feather: he had done a good stroke of knavery that afternoon in the Faubourg St. Jacques, and all night he had been gaining from Montigny.
<b>THEVENIN, MARIE ANNE ROSALIE.</b> Medals at the Salons of 1849, 1859, 1861. Born at Lyons. Pupil of Leon Cogniet. Portrait and figure painter. Among her pictures the following are noticeable: "Flora McIvor and Rose Bradwardine," 1848; "Portrait of Abbé Jacquet," 1859; "Portrait of a Lady," 1861.
The monk received his share with a deep sigh, and a single stealthy glance at the dead Thevenin, who was beginning to sink into himself and topple sideways off the chair. "We're all in for it," cried Villon, swallowing his mirth. "It's a hanging job for every man jack of us that's here not to speak of those who aren't."
He loved Rose Thévenin for her grace, her supple figure, her clever acting, her roving glances, and her voice that went straight to a man's heart; he loved Élodie, because he recognized instinctively her rich endowment of temperament and her kind, complaisant humour; he loved Julienne Hasard, despite her colourless hair, her pale eyelashes, her freckles and her thin bust, because, like Dunois in Voltaire's Pucelle, he was always ready, in his generosity, to give the least engaging a token of love and the more so in this instance because she appeared to be for the moment the most neglected, and therefore the most amenable to his attentions.
About the first there clung some flavour of good birth and training, as about a fallen angel; something long, lithe, and courtly in the person; something aquiline and darkling in the face. Thevenin, poor soul, was in great feather; he had done a good stroke of knavery that afternoon in the Faubourg St. Jacques, and all night he had been gaining from Montigny.
Évariste Gamelin himself, stern-tempered as he was, when he recovered his twopenny knife from Élodie's lap, recited the going down of Grisbourdon into hell, with a good deal of spirit. The citoyenne Thévenin sang without accompaniment Nina's ballad: "Quand le bien-aimé reviendra."
"Come now," said Villon "about this ballade. How does it run so far?" And beating time with his hand, he read it aloud to Tabary. They were interrupted at the fourth rhyme by a brief and fatal movement among the gamesters. The round was completed, and Thevenin was just opening his mouth to claim another victory, when Montigny leaped up, swift as an adder, and stabbed him to the heart.
The blow took effect before he had time to utter a cry, before he had time to move. A tremor or two convulsed his frame; his hands opened and shut, his heels rattled on the floor; then his head rolled backward over one shoulder with the eyes open, and Thevenin Pensete's spirit had returned to Him who made it. Everyone sprang to his feet; but the business was over in two twos.
Without a trace of vanity, he was never sure of these being agreeable; nor yet was he ever sure of their not being. So he never omitted to offer them on the chance. Taking advantage of the opportunities offered by the game of forfeits, he made some tender speeches to Rose Thévenin, who showed no displeasure, but could hardly say much in return under the jealous eyes of the citoyen Jean Blaise.
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