Still, when his friends and neighbors
met him in his walks and questioned him about his health, he always
answered that he was never better in his life. As he had always been
thought extremely deficient in mind, people did not notice the
constant lowering of his faculties. His love for Flore was the one
thing that kept him alive; in fact, he existed only for her, and his
weakness in her presence was unbounded; he obeyed the creature's mere
look, and watched her movements as a dog watches every gesture of his
master. In short, as Madame Hochon remarked, at fifty-seven years of
age he seemed older than Monsieur Hochon, an octogenarian.
Every one will suppose, and with reason, that Max's _appartement_ was
worthy of so charming a fellow. In fact, in the course of six years
our captain had by degrees perfected the comfort of his abode and
adorned every detail of it, as much for his own pleasure as for
Flore's. But it was, after all, only the comfort and luxury of
Issoudun,--colored tiles, rather elegant wallpapers, mahogany
furniture, mirrors in gilt frames, muslin curtains with red borders, a
bed with a canopy, and draperies arranged as the provincial
upholsterers arrange them for a rich bride; which in the eyes of
Issoudun seemed the height of luxury, but are so common in vulgar
fashion-plates that even the petty shopkeepers in Paris have discarded
them at their weddings. One very unusual thing appeared, which caused
much talk in Issoudun, namely, a rush-matting on the stairs, no doubt
to muffle the sound of feet.
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