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<h2>
<a href="#begin">A STREET OF PARIS, by Honore De Balzac</a></h2>
<pre>
Project Gutenberg's A Street Of Paris And Its Inhabitant, by Honore De Balzac
#108 in our series by Honore De Balzac
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Title: A Street Of Paris And Its Inhabitant
Author: Honore De Balzac
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</pre>
<a name="begin"></a>
<center>
<h1>A STREET OF PARIS</h1>
<br>
<h2>AND</h2>
<br>
<h1>ITS INHABITANT</h1>
<br><br><br><br>
<h3>BY</h3>
<br>
<h2>HONORE DE BALZAC</h2>
<br>
<br>
<h4>Translated by</h4>
<h4>Henri Pene du Bois</h4>
<br>
<br>
<h4>Illustrated by</h4>
<h4>Francois Courboin</h4>
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="titlepage3.jpg (46K)" src="titlepage3.jpg" height="922" width="591">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
</center>
<p>
I <a href="#c1">PHYSIOGNOMY OF THE STREET</a><br>
II <a href="#c2">SILHOUETTE OF THE INHABITANT</a><br>
III <a href="#c3">MADAME ADOLPHE</a><br>
IV <a href="#c4">INCONVENIENCE OF QUAYS WHERE ARE BOOK STALLS</a><br>
V <a href="#c5">FIRST COURSE</a><br>
VI <a href="#c6">SECOND COURSE</a><br>
VII <a href="#c7">DESSERT</a><br>
VIII <a href="#c8">THIS SHOWS THAT THE WIFE OF A MAN OF SCIENCE IS VERY UNHAPPY</a></p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<h2>PREPARER'S NOTE</h2>
</center>
<p>This eBook was prepared from an edition published by Meyer
Brothers and Company, New York, 1900.</p>
<p>Of this edition 400 copies were printed. 25 copies on Japan
Paper, numbered 1 to 25. 375 copies on specially made paper,
numbered 26 to 400.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<h2>PREFACE</h2>
</center>
<p>This little Parisian silhouette in prose was written by Balzac
to be the first chapter of a new series of the "Comedie Humaine"
that he was preparing while the first was finishing. Balzac was
never tired. He said that the men who were tired were those who
rested and tried to work afterwards.</p>
<p>"A Street of Paris and its Inhabitant" was in its author's
mind when Hetzel, engaged in collecting a copy for the work
entitled "Le Diable a Paris" that all book lovers admire, asked
Balzac for an unpublished manuscript.</p>
<p>Balzac gave him this, after retouching it, in order that it
should have the air of a finished story. Why Hetzel did not use
it in "Le Diable a Paris," no one knows. He went into exile, in
Brussels, at the military revolution that made Napoleon III
Emperor and, needing money, sold "A Street of Paris and its
Inhabitant" with other manuscripts to Le Siecle.</p>
<p>Balzac's work was printed entire in three pages of the journal
Le Siecle, in Paris, July 28, 1845. M. le Vicomte Spoelberch de
Lovenjoul owns Balzac's autograph manuscript of it. These details
are given by him and might be reproduced here with his signature.
But the publishers wish not to be deprived of the pleasure of
paying homage to the Vicomte Spoelberch de Lovenjoul.</p>
<p>He has made in the biography of Balzac, in editions of his
books, in the pious collection of his unpublished writings, the
ideal literary man's monument.</p>
<p>H. P. du B.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="01a.jpg (44K)" src="01a.jpg" height="431" width="503">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c1"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>I</h1>
<h2>PHYSIOGNOMY OF THE STREET</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>Paris has curved streets, streets that are serpentine. It
counts, perhaps, only the Rue Boudreau in the Chaussee d'Antin
and the Rue Duguay-Trouin near the Luxembourg as streets shaped
exactly like a T-square. The Rue Duguay-Trouin extends one of its
two arms to the Rue d'Assas and the other to the Rue de
Fleurus.</p>
<p>In 1827 the Rue Duguay-Trouin was paved neither on one side
nor on the other; it was lighted neither at its angle nor at its
ends. Perhaps it is not, even to-day, paved or lighted. In truth,
this street has so few houses, or the houses are so modest, that
one does not see them; the city's forgetfulness of them is
explained, then, by their little importance.</p>
<p>Lack of solidity in the soil is a reason for that state of
things. The street is situated on a point of the Catacombs so
dangerous that a portion of the road disappeared recently,
leaving an excavation to the astonished eyes of the scarce
inhabitants of that corner of Paris.</p>
<p>A great clamor arose in the newspapers about it. The
government corked up the "Fontis"—such is the name of that
territorial bankruptcy—and the gardens that border the street,
destitute of passers-by, were reassured the more easily because
the tax list did not weigh on them.</p>
<p>The arm of the street that extends to the Rue de Fleurus is
entirely occupied, at the left, by a wall on the top of which
shine broken bottles and iron lances fixed in the plaster—a sort
of warning to hands of lovers and of thieves.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="03a.jpg (29K)" src="03a.jpg" height="480" width="284">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>In this wall is a door, the famous little garden door, so
necessary to dramas and to novels, which is beginning to
disappear from Paris.</p>
<p>This door, painted in dark green, having an invisible lock,
and on which the tax collector had not yet painted a number; this
wall, along which grow thistles and grass with beaded blades;
this street, with furrows made by the wheels of wagons; other
walls gray and crowned with foliage, are in harmony with the
silence that reigns in the Luxembourg, in the convent of the
Carmelites, in the gardens of the Rue de Fleurus.</p>
<p>If you went there, you would ask yourself, "Who can possibly
live here?"</p>
<p>Who? Wait and see.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c2"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>II</h1>
<h2>SILHOUETTE OF THE INHABITANT</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>One day, about three in the afternoon, that door was opened.
Out of it came a little old man, fat, provided with an abdomen
heavy and projecting which obliges him to make many sacrifices.
He has to wear trousers excessively wide, not to be troubled in
walking. He has renounced, long ago, the use of boots and trouser
straps. He wears shoes. His shoes were hardly polished.</p>
<p>The waistcoat, incessantly impelled to the upper part of the
gastric cavities by that great abdomen, and depressed by the
weight of two thoracic bumps that would make the happiness of a
thin woman, offers to the pleasantries of the passers-by a
perfect resemblance to a napkin rolled on the knees of a guest
absorbed in discussion at dessert.</p>
<p>The legs are thin, the arm is long, one of the hands is gloved
only on most solemn occasions and the other hand ignores
absolutely the advantage of a second skin.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="05a.jpg (23K)" src="05a.jpg" height="450" width="270">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>That personage avoids the alms and the pity that his venerable
green frock coat invites, by wearing the red ribbon at his
button-hole. This proves the utility of the Order of the Legion
of Honor which has been contested too much in the past ten years,
the new Knights of the Order say.</p>
<p>The battered hat, in a constant state of horror in the places
where a reddish fuzz endures, would not be picked up by a rag
picker, if the little old man let it fall and left it at a street
corner.</p>
<p>Too absent-minded to submit to the bother that the wearing of
a wig entails, that man of science—he is a man of
science—shows, when he makes a bow, a head that, viewed from the
top, has the appearance of the Farnese Hercules's knee.</p>
<p>Above each ear, tufts of twisted white hair shine in the sun
like the angry silken hairs of a boar at bay. The neck is
athletic and recommends itself to the notice of caricaturists by
an infinity of wrinkles, of furrows; by a dewlap faded but armed
with darts in the fashion of thistles.</p>
<p>The constant state of the beard explains at once why the
necktie, always crumpled and rolled by the gestures of a disquiet
head, has its own beard, infinitely softer than that of the good
old man, and formed of threads scratched from its unfortunate
tissue.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="06a.jpg (25K)" src="06a.jpg" height="382" width="259">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Now, if you have divined the torso and the powerful back, you
will know the sweet tempered face, somewhat pale, the blue
ecstatic eyes and the inquisitive nose of that good old man, when
you learn that, in the morning, wearing a silk head kerchief and
tightened in a dressing- gown, the illustrious professor—he is a
professor—resembled an old woman so much that a young man who
came from the depths of Saxony, of Weimar, or of Prussia,
expressly to see him, said to him, "Forgive me, Madame!" and
withdrew.</p>
<p>This silhouette of one of the most learned and most venerated
members of the Institute betrays so well enthusiasm for study and
absent- mindedness caused by application to the quest of truth,
that you must recognize in it the celebrated Professor Jean
Nepomucene Apollodore Marmus de Saint-Leu, one of the most
admirable men of genius of our time.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="07a.jpg (20K)" src="07a.jpg" height="302" width="336">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c3"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>III</h1>
<h2>MADAME ADOLPHE</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>When the old man—the professor counted then sixty-two
summers—had walked three steps, he turned his head at this
question, hurled in an acute tone by a voice that he
recognized:</p>
<p>"Have you a handkerchief?"</p>
<p>A woman stood on the step of the garden door and was watching
her master with solicitude.</p>
<p>She seemed to be fifty years of age, and her dress indicated
that she was one of those servants who are invested with full
authority in household affairs.</p>
<p>She was darning stockings.</p>
<p>The man of science came back and said naively:</p>
<p>"Yes, Madame Adolphe, I have my handkerchief."</p>
<p>"Have you your spectacles?" she asked.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="09a.jpg (22K)" src="09a.jpg" height="430" width="259">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The man of science felt the side pocket of his waistcoat.</p>
<p>"I have them," he replied.</p>
<p>"Show them to me," she said. "Often you have only the
case."</p>
<p>The professor took the case out of his pocket and showed the
spectacles with a triumphant air.</p>
<p>"You would do well to keep them on your nose," she said.</p>
<p>M. de Saint-Leu put on his spectacles, after rubbing the
glasses with his handkerchief.</p>
<p>Naturally, he thrust the handkerchief under his left arm while
he set his spectacles on his nose. Then he walked a few steps
towards the Rue de Fleurus and relaxed his hold on the
handkerchief, which fell.</p>
<p>"I was sure of it," said Madame Adolphe to herself. She picked
up the handkerchief and cried:</p>
<p>"Monsieur! Monsieur!"</p>
<p>"Well!" exclaimed the professor, made indignant by her
watchfulness.</p>
<p>"I beg your pardon," he said, receiving the handkerchief.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="10a.jpg (40K)" src="10a.jpg" height="575" width="384">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>"Have you any money?" asked Madame Adolphe with maternal
solicitude.</p>
<p>"I need none," he replied naively, explaining thus the lives
of all men of science.</p>
<p>"It depends," Madame Adolphe said. "If you go by way of the
Pont des Arts you need one sou."</p>
<p>"You are right," replied the man of science, as if he were
retracing instructions for a voyage to the North Pole. "I will go
through the Luxembourg, the Rue de Seine, the Pont des Arts, the
Louvre, the Rue du Coq, the Rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs, the Rue
des Fosses- Montmartre. It is the shortest route to the Faubourg
Poissonniere."</p>
<p>"It is three o'clock," Madame Adolphe said. "Your
sister-in-law dines at six. You have three hours before
you—Yes—you'll be there, but you'll be late." She searched her
apron pocket for two sous, which she handed to the professor.</p>
<p>"Very well, then," she said to him. "Do not eat too much. You
are not a glutton, but you think of other things. You are frugal,
but you eat when you are absent-minded as if you had no bread at
home. Take care not to make Madame Vernet, your sister-in-law,
wait. If you make her wait, you will never be permitted again to
go there alone, and it will be shameful for you."</p>
<p>Madame Adolphe returned to the threshold of the little door
and from there watched her master. She had to cry to him, "To the
right! To the right!" for he was turning toward the Rue
Notre-Dame-des-Champs.</p>
<p>"And yet he is a man of science, people say," she muttered to
herself. "How did he ever manage to get married? I'll ask Madame
when I dress her hair."</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="12a.jpg (16K)" src="12a.jpg" height="237" width="354">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c4"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>IV</h1>
<h2>INCONVENIENCE OF QUAYS
<br>WHERE ARE BOOK STALLS</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>At four o'clock, Professor Marmus was at the end of the Rue de
Seine, under the arcades of the Institute. Those who know him
will admit that he had done nobly, since he had taken only one
hour to go through the Luxembourg and down the Rue de Seine.</p>
<p>There a lamentable voice, the voice of a child, plucked from
the good man the two sous that Madame Adolphe had given to him.
When he reached the Pont des Arts he remembered that he had to
pay toll and turned back suddenly to beg for a sou from the
child.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="14a.jpg (27K)" src="14a.jpg" height="452" width="308">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The little rascal had gone to break the coin, in order to give
only one sou to his mother. She was walking up and down the Rue
Mazarine with her baby at her breast.</p>
<p>It became necessary for the professor to turn his back on the
veteran soldier who guards against the possibility of a Parisian
passing over the bridge without paying the toll.</p>
<p>Two roads were open to him: the Pont Neuf and the Pont Royal.
Curiosity makes one lose more time in Paris than anywhere
else.</p>
<p>How may one walk without looking at those little oblong boxes,
wide as the stones of the parapet, that all along the quays
stimulate book lovers with posters saying, "Four Sous—Six
Sous—Ten Sous—Twelve Sous—Thirty Sous?" These catacombs of
glory have devoured many hours that belonged to the poets, to the
philosophers and to the men of science of Paris.</p>
<p>Great is the number of ten-sous pieces spent in the four-sous
stalls!</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="16a.jpg (37K)" src="16a.jpg" height="387" width="506">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The professor saw a pamphlet by Vicq-d'Azyr, a complete
Charles Bonnet in the edition of Fauche Borel, and an essay on
Malus.</p>
<p>"And such then is the sum of our achievements," he said to
himself. "Malus! A genius arrested in his course when he had
almost captured the empire of light! But we have had Fresnel.
Fresnel has done excellent things!—Oh, they will recognize some
day that light is only a mode of substance."</p>
<p>The professor held the notice on Malus. He turned its pages.
He had known Malus. He recalled to himself and recited the names
of all the Maluses. Then he returned to Malus, to his dear Malus,
for they had entered the Institute together at the return to
Paris of the expedition to Egypt. Ah! It was then the Institute
of France and not a mass of disunited Academies.</p>
<p>"The Emperor had preserved," said Marmus to himself, "the
saintly idea of the Convention. I remember," he muttered aloud,
"what he said to me when I was presented to him as a member of
the Institute. Napoleon the First said, 'Marmus, I am the Emperor
of the French, but you are the King of the infinitely little and
you will organize them as I have organized the Empire.' Ah, he
was a very great man and a man of wit! The French appreciated
this too late."</p>
<p>The professor replaced Malus and the essay on him in the
ten-sous stall, without remarking how often hope had been lit and
extinguished alternately in the gray eyes of an old woman seated
on a stool in an angle of the quay.</p>
<p>"He was there," Marmus said, pointing to the Tuileries on the
opposite bank of the river. "I saw him reviewing his sublime
troops! I saw him thin, ardent as the sands of Egypt; but, as
soon as he became Emperor, he grew fat and good-natured, for all
fat men are excellent—this is why Sinard is thin, he is a
gall-making machine. But would Napoleon have supported my
theory?"</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="17a.jpg (25K)" src="17a.jpg" height="383" width="365">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c5"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>V</h1>
<h2>FIRST COURSE</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>It was the hour at which they went to the dinner table in the
house of Marmus's sister-in-law. The professor walked slowly
toward the Chamber of Deputies, asking himself if his theory
might have had Napoleon's support. He could no longer judge
Napoleon save from that point of view. Did Napoleon's genius
coincide with that of Marmus in regard to the assimilation of
things engendered by an attraction perpetual and continuous?</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="18a.jpg (15K)" src="18a.jpg" height="304" width="211">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c6"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>VI</h1>
<h2>SECOND COURSE</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>"No, Baron Sinard was a worshipper of power. He would have
gone to the Emperor and told him that my theory was the
inspiration of an atheist. And Napoleon, who has done a great
deal of religious sermonizing for political reasons, would have
persecuted me. He had no love for ideas. He was a courtier of
facts! Moreover, in Napoleon's time, it would not have been
possible for me to communicate freely with Germany. Would they
have lent me their aid—Wytheimler, Grosthuys, Scheele, Stamback,
Wagner?</p>
<p>"To make men of science agree—men of science agree!—the
Emperor should have made peace; in time of peace, perhaps, he
would have taken an interest in my quarrel with Sinard! Sinard,
my friend, my pupil, become my antagonist, my enemy! He, a man of
genius—</p>
<p>"Yes, he is a man of genius. I do justice to him in the face
of all the world."</p>
<p>At this moment the professor could talk aloud without trouble
to himself or to the passers-by. He was near the Chamber of
Deputies, the session was closed, all Paris was at dinner—except
the man of science.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="20a.jpg (17K)" src="20a.jpg" height="385" width="226">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Marmus was haranguing the statues which, it must be conceded,
are similar to all audiences. In France there is not an audience
that is not prohibited from giving marks of approval or
disapproval. Otherwise, there is not an audience that would not
turn orator.</p>
<p>At the Iena bridge Marmus had a pain in the stomach. He heard
the hoarse voice of a cab driver. Marmus thought that he was ill
and let himself be ushered into the cab. He made himself
comfortable in it.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="21a.jpg (34K)" src="21a.jpg" height="395" width="525">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>When the driver asked, "Where?" Marmus replied quietly:</p>
<p>"Home."</p>
<p>"Where is your home, Monsieur?" asked the driver.</p>
<p>"Number three," Marmus replied.</p>
<p>"What street?" asked the driver.</p>
<p>"Ah, you are right, my friend. But this is extraordinary," he
said, taking the driver into his confidence. "I have been so busy
comparing the hyoides and the caracoides—yes, that's it. I will
catch Sinard in the act. At the next session of the Institute he
will have to yield to evidence."</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="22a.jpg (38K)" src="22a.jpg" height="444" width="501">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The driver wrapped his ragged cloak around him. Resignedly, he
was saying to himself, "I have seen many odd folks, but this
one—" He heard the word "Institute."</p>
<p>"The Institute, Monsieur?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Yes, my friend, the Institute," replied Marmus.</p>
<p>"Well he wears the red ribbon," said the driver to himself.
"Perhaps he has something to do with the Institute."</p>
<p>The professor, infinitely more comfortable in his cab than on
the sidewalk, devoted himself entirely to solving the problem
that went against his theory and would not surrender—the rascal!
The cab stops at the Institute; the janitor sees the Academician
and bows to him respectfully. The cab driver, his suspicions
dispelled, talks with the janitor of the Institute while the
illustrious professor goes—at eight in the evening—to the
Academie des Sciences.</p>
<p>The cab driver tells the janitor where he found his fare.</p>
<p>"At the Iena bridge," repeats the janitor. "M. Marmus was
coming back from Passy. He had dined, doubtless, with M.
Planchette, one of his friends of the Academy."</p>
<p>"He couldn't tell me his address," says the cab driver.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="24a.jpg (47K)" src="24a.jpg" height="517" width="476">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>"He lives in the Rue Duguay-Trouin, Number three," says the
janitor.</p>
<p>"What a neighborhood!" exclaims the driver.</p>
<p>"My friend," asks of the janitor the professor who had found
the door shut, "is there no meeting of the Academy to-day?"</p>
<p>"To-day!" exclaims the janitor. "At this hour!"</p>
<p>"What is the time?" asks the man of science.</p>
<p>"About eight o'clock," the janitor replies.</p>
<p>"It is late," comments M. Marmus. "Take me home, driver."</p>
<p>The driver goes through the quays, the Rue du Bac, falls into
a tangle of wagons, returns by the Rue de Grenelle, the
Croix-Rouge, the Rue Cassette, then he makes a mistake. He tries
to find the Rue d'Assas, in the Rue Honore-Chevalier, in the Rue
Madame, in all the impossible streets and, swearing that if he
had known he would not have come so far for a hundred sous,
disembarks the professor in the Rue Duguay- Trouin.</p>
<p>The cab driver claims an hour, for the police ordinances, that
defend consumers of time in cabs from the stratagems of cab
drivers, had not yet posted the walls of Paris with their
protecting articles that settle in advance all difficulties.</p>
<p>"Very well, my friend," says M. Marmus to the cab driver. "Pay
him," M. Marmus says to Madame Adolphe. "I do not feel well, my
child."</p>
<p>"Monsieur, what did I tell you?" she exclaimed. "You have
eaten too much. While you were away, I said to myself, 'It is
Mme. Vernet's birthday. They will urge him at table and he will
come back sick.' Well, go to bed. I will make camomile tea for
you."</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="26a.jpg (17K)" src="26a.jpg" height="375" width="245">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c7"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>VII</h1>
<h2>DESSERT</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>The professor walked through the garden into a pavilion at one
of its corners, where he lived alone in order not to be disturbed
by his wife.</p>
<p>He went up the stairway leading to his little room, and
complained so much of his pains in the stomach that Madame
Adolphe filled him with camomile tea.</p>
<p>"Ah, here is a carriage! It is Madame returning in great
anxiety, I am sure," said Madame Adolphe, giving to the professor
his sixth cup of camomile tea. "Now, sir, I hope that you will be
able to drink it without me. Do not let it fall all over your
bed. You know how Madame would laugh. You are very happy to have
a little wife who is so amiable and so joyful."</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="28a.jpg (28K)" src="28a.jpg" height="367" width="446">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>"Say nothing to her, my child," exclaimed the professor, whose
features expressed a sort of childish fear.</p>
<p>The truly great man is always more or less a child.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="28b.jpg (4K)" src="28b.jpg" height="101" width="221">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<a name="c8"></a>
<br><br>
<center>
<h1>VIII</h1>
<h2>THIS SHOWS THAT THE WIFE OF
<br>A MAN OF SCIENCE IS VERY UNHAPPY</h2>
</center>
<br>
<p>"Well, good-bye. Return in the cab, it is paid for," Madame
Marmus was saying when Madame Adolphe arrived at the door.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="30a.jpg (25K)" src="30a.jpg" height="484" width="287">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The cab had already turned the corner. Madame Adolphe, not
having seen Madame Marmus's escort, said to herself:</p>
<p>"Poor Madame! He must be her nephew."</p>
<p>Madame Marmus, a little woman, lithe, graceful, mirthful, was
divinely dressed and in a fashion too young for her age, counting
her twenty- five years as a wife. Nevertheless, she wore well a
gown with small pink stripes, a cape embroidered and edged with
lace, boots pretty as the wings of a butterfly. She carried in
her hand a pink hat with peach flowers.</p>
<p>"You see, Madame Adolphe," she said, "my hair is all uncurled.
I told you that in this hot weather it should be dressed in
bandeaux."</p>
<p>"Madame," the servant replied, "Monsieur is very sick. You let
him eat too much."</p>
<p>"What could I do?" Madame Marmus replied. "He was at one end
of the table and I at the other. He returned without me, as his
habit is! Poor little man! I will go to him as soon as I change
my dress."</p>
<p>Madame Adolphe returns to the pavilion to propose an emetic,
and scolds the professor for not having returned with Madame
Marmus.</p>
<p>"Since you wished to come in a cab, you might have spared me
the expense of the one that Madame Marmus took. The charge for
your cab was an hour. Did you stop anywhere?"</p>
<p>"At the Institute," he replied.</p>
<p>"At the Institute! Where did you take the cab?" she asked.</p>
<p>"In front of a bridge, I think," he replied.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="31a.jpg (24K)" src="31a.jpg" height="349" width="339">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>"Was it still daylight?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Almost," he said.</p>
<p>"Then you did not go to Madame Vernet's!" exclaimed Madame
Adolphe.</p>
<p>"Why did you not come to Madame Vernet's?" asked his wife.</p>
<p>Madame Marmus, having come to the door on the tips of her
toes, had heard Madame Adolphe's exclamation. She did not wish to
see Madame Adolphe's astonishment. Surely Madame Adolphe could
not have forgotten the assurance with which the professor's wife
had placed him in imagination at Madame Vernet's table.</p>
<p>"My dear child, I do not know," said the professor in a
repentant tone.</p>
<p>"Then you have not dined," said Madame Marmus, whose attitude
remained that of the purest innocence.</p>
<p>"With what could he have dined, Madame? He had two sous," said
Madame Adolphe, looking at Madame Marmus with an accusing
air.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="32a.jpg (33K)" src="32a.jpg" height="410" width="505">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>"Ah, I am truly to be pitied, my poor Madame Adolphe," said
Madame Marmus. "This sort of thing has been going on for twenty
years, and I am not yet accustomed to it. Six days after our
wedding, we were going out of our room one morning to take
breakfast. M. Marmus hears the drum of the Polytechnic School
pupils of whom he was the professor. He quits me to go and see
them pass. I was nineteen years of age and when I pouted, you
cannot guess what he said to me. He said, 'These young people are
the flower and the glory of France!' This is how my marriage
began. You can judge of the rest."</p>
<p>"Oh, Monsieur, is it possible?" asked Madame Adolphe with an
indignant air.</p>
<p>"I have cornered Sinard!" exclaimed M. Marmus
triumphantly.</p>
<p>"Oh, he would let himself die!" exclaimed Madame Adolphe.</p>
<p>"Get something for him to eat," said Madame Marmus. "He would
let himself do anything. Ah, my good Madame Adolphe, a man of
science, you see, is a man who knows nothing—of life."</p>
<p>The malady was cured by a cataplasm of Italian cheese that the
man of science ate without knowing what he was eating, for he
held Sinard in a corner—</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="33a.jpg (43K)" src="33a.jpg" height="519" width="544">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>"Poor Madame," said the kind Madame Adolphe. "I pity you. He
was really so absent-minded as that!"</p>
<p>And Madame Adolphe forgot the strange avowal of her
mistress.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<img alt="35a.jpg (18K)" src="35a.jpg" height="309" width="349">
</center>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<center>
<h3>Illuminated Capitals from the beginning of each chapter.</h3>
<img alt="08a.jpg (6K)" src="08a.jpg" height="175" width="172">
<img alt="13a.jpg (4K)" src="13a.jpg" height="128" width="136">
<img alt="19a.jpg (8K)" src="19a.jpg" height="178" width="183">
<br>
<img alt="27a.jpg (5K)" src="27a.jpg" height="161" width="150">
<img alt="04a.jpg (7K)" src="04a.jpg" height="189" width="162">
<img alt="29a.jpg (5K)" src="29a.jpg" height="151" width="146">
</center>
<pre>
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by Honore De Balzac
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