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It chanced that upon a finein this same month of March, I think it was on Saturday the 29th, Saint Eustache's day, our young friend the student, Jehan Frollo du Moulin, perceived, as he was dressing hiave out noit from his fob, "what! not the smallest parisis! how cruelly the dice, beer-pots, and Venus have depleted thee! How empty, wrinkled, limp, thou art! Thou resemblest the throat of a fury! I ask you, Messer Cicero, and Messer Seneca, copies of who's-eared, I behold scattered on the floor, what profits it overnor of the olden crown stamped with a crown is worth thirty-five unzains of twenty-five sous, and eight deniers parisis apiece, and that a crown stamped with a crescent is worth thirty-six unzains of twenty-six sous, six deniers tournois apiece, if I have not a single wretched black liard to risk on the double-six! Oh! Consul Cicero! this is no calamity from which one extricates one's self with periphrases, ~quemadmodum~, and ~verum enim vero~!"

He dressed himself sadly An idea had occurred to him as he laced his boots, but he rejected it at first; nevertheless, it returned, and he put on his waistcoat wrong side out, an evident sign of violent internal cohly on the floor, and exclai to my brother! I shall catch a sermon, but I shall catch a crown"

Then be hastily donned his long jacket with furred half- sleeves, picked up his cap, and went out like a man driven to desperation

He descended the Rue de la Harpe toward the City As he passed the Rue de la Huchette, the odor of those ad, tickled his olfactory apparatus, and he bestowed a loving glance toward the Cyclopean roast, which one day drew froirone, this pathetic exclamation: ~Veramente, queste rotisserie sono cosa stupenda~! But Jehan had not the ithal to buy a breakfast, and he plunged, with a profound sigh, under the gateway of the Petit-Châtelet, that enoruarded the entrance to the City

Truly, these roastings are a stupendous thing!

He did not even take the trouble to cast a stone in passing, as was the usage, at the miserable statue of that Périnet Leclerc who had delivered up the Paris of Charles VI to the English, a criy, its face battered with stones and soiled with mud, expiated for three centuries at the corner of the Rue de la Harpe and the Rue de Buci, as in an eternal pillory