My
excellent father, I have reason to believe, never shared my admiration
for Uncle Victor, who used to sicken him with his pipe, gave him great
thumps on the back by way of friendliness, and accused him of lacking
energy. My mother, though always showing a sister's indulgence to the
captain, sometimes advised him to fondle the brandy bottle a little less
frequently. But I had no part either in these repugnances or these
reproaches, and Uncle Victor inspired me with the purest enthusiasm. It
was therefore with a feeling of pride that I entered into the little
lodging-house where he lived, in the Rue Guenegaud. The entire
breakfast, served on a small table close to the fireplace, consisted of
pork-meats and confectionery.
The Captain stuffed me with cakes and pure wine. He told me of
numberless injustices to which he had been a victim. He complained
particularly of the Bourbons; and as he neglected to tell me who the
Bourbons were, I got the idea--I can't tell how--that the Bourbons were
horse-dealers established at Waterloo. The Captain, who never
interrupted his talk except for the purpose of pouring out wine,
furthermore made charges against a number of _morveux_, of _jeanfesses_,
and "good-for-nothings" whom I did not know anything about, but whom I
hated from the bottom of my heart.
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