“I am too religious a man not to be sorry that
so amiable a person comes of the Jewish race, who
crucified Jesus Christ. Alas! do not doubt, my
dear boy, that villain Mordecai is the uncle of an
Esther who does not need to macerate six months in
myrrh to become worthy of the bed of a king.
That old spagyric raven is not the man fit for such
a beauty, and I am rather inclined to take an interest
in her myself.
“Mosaide will have to hide her very secretly
and carefully; should she show herself once only at
the promenade or the theatre, she would have all the
world at her feet on the following morning. Don’t
you wish to see her, Tournebroche?”
I replied that I wished it very much. And then
both of us drove deeper in our Greek.
Outside Mademoiselle Catherine’s House—We
are invited in by M. d’Anquetil—The
Supper—The Visit of the Owner and the horrible
Consequences.
That evening my tutor and I happened to be in the
Rue du Bac, and as it was rather warm M. Jerome Coignard
said to me:
“Jacques Tournebroche, my son, would it be agreeable
to you to turn to the left, into the Rue de Grenelle,
in quest of a tavern—that’s to say,
to some place where we could get a pot of wine for
two sous? I am rather short of cash, my boy,
and strongly suppose you to be no better off.
M. d’Asterac, who possibly can make gold, does
not give any to his secretaries and servants, as we
well know, to our cost, you and I. He leaves us in
a lamentable state. I have never a penny in my
pocket, and it will become necessary to remedy that
evil by industry and artifice. It is a fine thing
to bear poverty with an even mind, like Epictetus
of glorious memory. But it is an exercise I am
tired of and which has become tedious by habit.
I feel it is high time for a change of virtue, and
to insinuate myself into the possession of wealth
without being possessed by it, which certainly is
the noblest state to be reached by the soul of a philosopher.
I shall feel myself obliged, very soon, to earn profits
of some kind to show that my sagacity has not failed
me during my prosperity. I am in search of the
means to reach such an issue; my mind is occupied
by it, Tournebroche.”
And as my dear tutor spoke with a noble distinction
of that matter, we came near the pretty dwelling wherein
M. de la Gueritude had lodged Mademoiselle Catherine.
“You’ll recognise it, she had said to
me, by the roses on the balcony.” There
was not light enough to see the roses, but I fancied
I could smell them. Advancing a few yards I saw
her at the window watering flowers. She recognised
me, laughed, and threw me kisses with her chubby little
hand. Upon that a hand passing through the open
window slapped her cheek. In her surprise she
let the water jug slip out of her hand, it fell down
into the street, at a hair’s breadth from my
tutor’s head. The slapped beauty disappeared
from the window, and the ear-boxer appeared; he leaned
out and shouted:
