FRANCOIS PICAUD
A PIECE OF CONTEMPORARY HISTORY
N the year 1807 a working shoemaker of the name of François Picaud lived in Paris. This poor devil, who did his work at home, was a young and good-looking fellow, and was on the point of marrying a neat, pert, lively girl, whom he loved as common people do love the brides they choose, that is, alone among all women; for common people know only one way of loving a woman, that is, marrying her. With this fine project in his head, and dressed in his Sunday's best, François Picaud went to the keeper of a coffee-house, a man who was his equal in age and station but richer than the cobbler, and known for his extravagant jealousy of everybody and everything that was prosperous.
Mathieu Loupian, a native of Nîmes like Picaud, kept a coffee and wine shop, well patronized, near the Place Sainte-Opportune. He was a widower with two children; three regular customers, all from the department of the Gard, and all acquainted with Picaud, were with him.
"What's up?" said the master of the house. "Why, Picaud, you are so smart that one would think you were going to dance las treillas!" This is the name of a popular dance in Lower Languedoc.
"I am going to do better, my friend,—I am going to be married."
"Whom have you chosen to plant your horns?" said one of the company named Allut.
"Not your mother-in-law's second girl, for in that family they plant them so clumsily that they stick through your hat."
In fact Allut's hat had a hole in it, and the laugh was on the cobbler's side.
"Joking aside," said the landlord, "whom are you about to marry?"
"The Vigouroux girl."
"Thérèse the rich?"
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