But at table over supper a half-hour later he revived the topic.
"Our latest recruit, this excellent M. Parvissimus," he announced, "has the impudence to tell me that possibly our comedy could have been worse, but that probably it could not." And he blew out his great round cheeks to invite a laugh at the expense of that foolish critic.
"That's bad," said the swarthy and sardonic Polichinelle. He was grave as Rhadamanthus pronouncing judgment. "That's bad. But what is infinitely worse is that the audience had the impudence to be of the same mind."
"An ignorant pack of clods," sneered Leandre, with a toss of his handsome head.
"You are wrong," quoth Harlequin. "You were born for love, my dear, not criticism."
Leandre-a dull dog, as you will have conceived-looked contemptuously down upon the little man.
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But say no more
Of late since joining
There must be men
Andre Louis stood forward
And that considerable oratory
So that you see
Permit me monsieur to
And to day he
A childless woman with
And now to find
Aline was her niece
He had left the
He looked over his
He drove the nose
That was a republic
I return solely because
Coldly now he returned
M des Amis sauntered
Be that as it
He had not long
Andre Louis bowed his
The notion terrified Binet
And there was another
He delivered himself slowly
If so that reflection
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