In justice to the
children themselves it would be necessary for him, before long, to set
about finding suitable, respectable homes for them. It was this
unhappy sense of realisation that put the new furrows in his brow and
took the colour out of his cheek, the lustre from his eyes.
One day he was approached by Rouquin, volatile and cheery as in the
days of old. The sprightly Frenchman was beaming with friendliness and
good spirits. He conveyed a startling bit of personal news to Mr.
Bingle without the slighest trace of shame or embarrassment.
"Well, Mr. Bingle, I have married her," he said shrugging his
shoulders in a manner that might have signified either extreme
satisfaction with himself or lamentation over the inevitable. "The day
before yesterday. I am now a proud and happy father, old friend."
"Father?" murmured Mr. Bingle, bewildered. "You--mean bridegroom,
Rouquin."
"So I do," cried Rouquin amiably. "But you forget Napoleon--little
Napoleon," he went on gaily.
"You have married Napoleon's mother?"
"Le diable! But who else, M'sieur? The charming, adorable Mademoiselle
Vallemont.
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