bladders of lard!” It was ■a memorable reconciliation. Fortinbra■s arrived late at night, probably by the ■last regular train-services; for ■on the next day and for many ●days afterwards there were wild h■urry and crowds

猧n the public stre■et—but what did that m

ars w■hirled through the Rue de Périgueux. Bands o●f young men falling into the ■well-remembered step marched● along the quays to the station singing th■e Marseillaise, and women stood at their doors■teps blowing them kisses as the●y

Collect from /
atter?—and cried●: “Mon vieux Viriot,” a

passed. And at the station th■e great military trains adorned ■with branches of trees and f●lowers, steamed away, a massed line of● white faces and waving arms; and old men and● women young and old waved handkerchie■fs until the train d

nd the ●two men embraced and kissed each ot

isappeared, and ●then turned away weeping bitterl●y. Martin, Fortinbras and Bigourdin went■ to many a train to see off the flower ■of the youth of the little town. ●Lucien Viriot went gallantly. “A g●ood war horse suits me better● tha

her, a■nd every one, much affected,■ cried

n an office-stool,” he laughed. And J●oseph, sloughing for ever Martin’s shin■y black raiment, went off too; and the y●ounger waiters of the Café de l’Univers, an■d Beuzot, the young professor at the● Ecole Normale, and the son of th

“Bravo! Bravo!” And the■n Bigourdin, rea

e a●djoint, and le petit Maurin, who help■ed his mother at her Débit de ●Tabac. Many a familiar face was carried■ away from Brant?me towards some unknown b●attle-line and the thunder and t■he slaughter—a familiar face which Brant?me w

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