There is not a rattle, nor Tom-cat with a cold, whose
sounds would not be music alongside his voice."
"It is possible; that did not prevent it from being so plaintive at that
time that I felt myself quite affected; so much the more as M. Ferrand is
not habitually communicative. 'Sir,' said I, 'I believe that.' 'Leave me!
leave me!' he answered, interrupting me; 'to tell your sufferings to
another is a great solace.' Evidently he took me for some one else."
"So familiar? Then you owe us two bottles of Bordeaux:
"'When one's master is not proud
One must freely treat the crowd.'
It is the proverb that speaks; it is sacred. Proverbs are the wisdom of a
nation."
"Come, Chalamel, leave your proverbs alone. You comprehend, that, on
hearing that, I at once understood that he was mistaken, or that he was in
a high fever. I disengaged myself, saying, 'Calm yourself! it is I.' Then
he looked at me with a stupid look."
"Very well! now that sounds like the truth."
"His eyes were wild. 'Eh!' he answered. 'What is it?--who is there? what do
you want with me?' At each question he ran his hand over his face, as if to
drive away the clouds which obscured his thoughts."
"'Which obscured his thoughts!' Just as if it were written! Bravo, head
clerk; we will make a melodrama together:
"'Who speaks so well, and so polite,
A melodrama ought to write.'"
"Do hold your tongue, Chalamel.
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