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Updated: June 17, 2025
The man who rang at Daubrecq the deputy's gate, at six o-clock that evening, was a stout, elderly gentleman, in a black frock-coat, a bowler hat, spectacles and whiskers. The portress took him to the front-door of the house and rang the bell. Victoire appeared. Lupin asked: "Can M. Daubrecq see Dr. Vernes?" "M. Daubrecq is in his bedroom; and it is rather late..." "Give him my card, please."
Everything well considered, I thought I could not better refute this libel than by having it printed in the city in which I longest resided, and with this intention I sent it to Duchesne to print it as it was with an advertisement in which I named M. Vernes and a few short notes by way of eclaircissement.
Vernes' head with the rapidity of lightning, and in less time than is conceivable was formed into high and daring resolve. And more surprising still is the fact that some hours previous the same bent of thought was being cherished by the wily Mrs. Montague Arnold.
The only Chance that Florine had to mingle with the Popular Boys was to go down Town in the Afternoon and just happen to meet one of them at the Ice-Cream Parlor. Florine learned to be quite a Happener. But on the way home she would have to fix up a few Jules Vernes for the Old Lady in the Watch Tower. Mother knew that it didn't take 4 Hours to be measured for a Shirt Waist.
But human charity is not common to the general public, nor among the weaker sex. "What will the Vernes do now without their grand carriages and retinue of servants? That stuck up old Mrs. Verne will have to go into the work herself, and do as other people, and not be sticking on any more airs or she will get snubbed up pretty often."
Not satisfied with printing it only, I sent copies to several persons, and amongst others one copy to the Prince Louis of Wirtemberg, who had made me polite advances and with whom I was in correspondence. The prince, Du Peyrou, and others, seemed to have their doubts about the author of the libel, and blamed me for having named Vernes upon so slight a foundation.
My servant cried; he thought his bird flown. How could he suspect me? Ah! ah! 25th August. I must kill a man! I must 30th August. It is done. But what a little thing! I had gone for a walk in the forest of Vernes. I was thinking of nothing, literally nothing. A child was in the road, a little child eating a slice of bread and butter. He stops to see me pass and says, "Good-day, Mr. President."
It was the sole end of Mrs. Verne's existence that her daughters should make grand matches. For this purpose she entered upon a career which we intend to pursue through all its straight and crooked paths, hoping in the sequel to impart the sad but profitable lesson! Sunnybank, the stately residence of the Vernes, is indeed an imposing structure.
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