"Victor," she said under her breath. "Oh, _look_ at him! You old
sabreur!"
Joyselle, a great purple flower in his coat, came swinging down the
street, bowing right and left, his grey felt hat in his gloved hand. He
looked amazingly young and amazingly handsome, and there was no
mistaking the fact that, great man though he undoubtedly was, he was
hugely enjoying the homage of his townspeople.
When he reached the Pharmacie Normale he paused, and shaking hands
politely with Madame Perret, he met M. Perret with open arms, and the
little apothecary, bounding at him, was caught and kissed on either
cheek.
"_Ce cher_ Anatole!" Brigit heard him exclaim, "and how art thou, old
one?"
Perret, greatly delighted, skipped about in rapture, inquiring in a high
piping voice for Felicite and the boy, and asking many questions for
which he waited for no answer.
Then there was a lady from the shop, _Au Bonheur des chers Petits_, to
be greeted very cordially, and the old domino-player, who, Brigit
learned, was a cousin.
There was something very charming in the simplicity of Joyselle's
pleasure in seeing his boyhood's friends, and something almost ludicrous
in his perfectly obvious joy in their homage.
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