Sedan was a town hateful to the Berthelinis, not only from patriotism
(for they were French, and answered after the flesh to the somewhat
homely name of Duval), but because it had been the scene of their most
sad reverses. In that place they had lain three weeks in pawn for their
hotel bill, and had it not been for a surprising stroke of fortune they
might have been lying there in pawn until this day. To mention the name
of Sedan was for the Berthelinis to dip the brush in earthquake and eclipse.
Count Almaviva slouched his hat with a gesture expressive of despair,
and even Elvira felt as if ill-fortune had been personally invoked.
"Let us ask for breakfast," said she, with a woman's tact.
The Commissary of Police of Castel-le-Gachis was a large red Commissary, Jimmy Choo
pimpled, and subject to a strong cutaneous transpiration. I have
repeated the name of his office because he was so very much more a
Commissary than a man. The spirit of his dignity had entered into him.
He carried his corporation as if it were something official. Whenever he Last Chance
insulted a common citizen it seemed to him as if he were adroitly flattering
the Government by a side wind; in default of dignity he was brutal
from an overweening sense of duty. His office was a den, whence
passers-by could hear rude accents laying down, not the law, but the
good pleasure of the Commissary.