But my wife she has died, so all is well. The
day before yesterday I was married. I take--"
"For heaven's sake, Rouquin," gasped Mr. Bingle; "not so fast! I don't
know what you are talking about."
"Ah, it is so simple," sighed Rouquin, looking upon Mr. Bingle with
pity in his eyes. "Can you not see? So long as my wife was alive I
could not be married. Is that not plain to you? Then she dies. Quick!
Instantly I am married. Voila! It is so simple."
Mr. Bingle comprehended at last. "I see. You have had a wife in Paris
all these years, eh?"
"Mon Dieu! Yes, all these years," groaned Rouquin, rolling his eyes.
"See! See what my brother Pierre says: 'Blanche died to-day. Good
luck.' Good luck! Mon Dieu, M'sieur, is it possible that you do not
know what 'good luck' means?"
"And you have married Madame Rous--or whatever her name is?"
"So quick as that!" cried Rouquin, snapping his fingers. "And now,
M'sieur, when may I come to take little Napoleon home to his mother?"
Thus it came about that Napoleon was the first to go.
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