"My
good boy," said she, giving the Brazilian a little slap, "Roland the
Furious is very fine in a poem; but in a drawing-room he is prosaic
and expensive."
"My son," said old Nourrisson, rising to stand in front of the
crestfallen Baron, "I am of your way of thinking. When you love in
that way, and are joined 'till death does you part,' life must answer
for love. The one who first goes, carries everything away; it is a
general wreck. You command my esteem, my admiration, my consent,
especially for your inoculation, which will make me a Friend of the
Negro.--But you love her! You will hark back?"
"I?--If she is so infamous, I--"
"Well, come now, you are talking too much, it strikes me. A man who
means to be avenged, and who says he has the ways and means of a
savage, doesn't do that.--If you want to see your 'object' in her
paradise, you must take Cydalise and walk straight in with her on your
arm, as if the servant had made a mistake. But no scandal! If you mean
to be revenged, you must eat the leek, seem to be in despair, and
allow her to bully you.--Do you see?" said Madame Nourrisson, finding
the Brazilian quite amazed by so subtle a scheme.
"All right, old ostrich," he replied.
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