Angels -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English; French wit and humor -- Translations into English
By six o'clock next morning Mignon was already walking up and down
outside the d'Esparvieus' house, his head sunk between his shoulders,
wearing love-locks which showed from under the narrow brim of his bowler
hat, his eye cocked over his shoulder. He wore an enormous dull-black
moustache, his hands and feet were huge; in fact, his whole appearance
was distinctly memorable. He paced regularly up and down from the
nearest of the big rams' head pillars which adorn the Hôtel de la
Sordière to the end of the Rue Garancière, towards the apse of St.
Sulpice Church and the dome of the Chapel of the Virgin.
Henceforth it became impossible to enter or leave the d'Esparvieus'
house without feeling that one's every action, that one's very thoughts,
were being spied upon. Mignon was a prodigious person endowed with
powers that Nature denies to other mortals. He neither ate nor slept. At
all hours of the day and night, in wind and rain, he was to be found
outside the house, and no one escaped the X-rays of his eye. One felt
pierced through and through, penetrated to the very marrow, worse than
naked, bare as a skeleton. It was the affair of a moment; the detective
did not even stop, but continued his everlasting walk. It became
intolerable. Young Maurice threatened to leave the paternal roof if he
was to be so radiographed. His mother and his sister Berthe complained
of his piercing look; it offended the chaste modesty of their souls.
Mademoiselle Caporal, young Léon d'Esparvieu's governess, felt an
indescribable embarrassment. Monsieur René d'Esparvieu was sick of the
whole business. He never crossed his own threshold without crushing his
hat over his eyes to avoid the investigating ray and without wishing old
Sariette, the _fons et origo_ of all the evil, at the devil. The
intimates of the household, such as Abbé Patouille and Uncle Gaétan,
made themselves scarce; visitors gave up calling, tradespeople hesitated
about leaving their goods, the carts belonging to the big shops scarcely
dared stop. But it was among the domestics that the spying roused the
most disorder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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