M. Sisteron was short,
paunchy, bald, and bearded. He was a model husband and a pattern
as a father. I am persuaded that he had spent those four days in
Paris in the most blameless and innocuous fashion, living in the
cheapest hotel he could find, and, after the manner of the people
of Nyons, never spending one unnecessary franc. Still, the legend
of his lurid four days, and of the amount of champagne he had
consumed during them, persisted. In moments of expansion, his
intimate friends would dig him in the ribs, remembering those four
feverish days, with a facetious, "Ah! vieux polisson de Sisteron,
va! Nous autres, nous n'avons pas fait des farces a Paris dans
notre jeunesse!" to M. Sisteron's unbounded delight. It was in the
genuine spirit of Tartarin de Tarascon, with all the mutual make-
believe on both sides. His wife, Mme. Sisteron, was fond of
assuring her friends that she owed her excellent health to the
fact that she invariably took a bath twice a year, whether she
required it or not.
The other members of the cercle were also mostly short, tubby,
black-bearded, and olive-complexioned.
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