France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English
“I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods,” said the
Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot’s plump arm and gave it playful taps like
hammer-strokes. “I don’t ask her to bring anything into the firm but her
good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your Turk of
a Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to make a
woman rich--a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would make in
a shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping with
amateurs and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave your lodge
as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall see what will
become of us both.”
“Lined my purse!” cried Cibot. “I am incapable of taking the worth of a
single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood for
an honest woman, I am.”
La Cibot’s eyes flashed fire.
“There, never mind,” said Elie Magus; “this Auvergnat seems to be too
fond of you to mean to insult you.”
“How she would draw on the customers!” cried the Auvergnat.
Mme. Cibot softened at this.
“Be fair, sonnies,” quoth she, “and judge for yourselves how I am
placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these
two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything but
words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and lose
twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, by the
soul of my mother (the only author of my days that I ever knew), this
is as true as that I live, and that this is the light of day, and may my
coffee poison me if I lie about a farthing. Well, there is one up there
that will die soon, eh? and he the richer of the two that I have treated
like my own children. Would you believe it, my dear sir, I have told him
over and over again for days past that he is at death’s door (for Dr.
Poulain has given him up), he could not say less about putting my name
down in his will. We shall only get our due by taking it, upon my word,
as an honest woman, for as for trusting to the next-of-kin!--No fear!
There! look you here, words don’t stink; it is a bad world!”
“That is true,” Elie Magus answered cunningly, “that is true; and it
is just the like of us that are among the best,” he added, looking at
Remonencq.
“Just let me be,” returned La Cibot; “I am not speaking of you.
‘Pressing company is always accepted,’ as the old actor said. I swear to
you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand francs;
the little I have is gone by now in medicine and things on their
account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I am so
stupidly honest that I did not dare to say nothing to them about it.
Now, you that are in business, my dear sir, do you advise me to got to a
lawyer?”
“A lawyer?” cried Remonencq; “you know more about it than all the
lawyers put together--”
Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as if
some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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