They had conversed, and in the evening when he returned Phrosine
immediately showed him to the inner room.
Two days later Burle reigned there supreme; still he had not frightened
the chemist, the vermicelli maker, the lawyer or the retired magistrate
away. The captain, who was short and dumpy, worshiped tall, plump women.
In his regiment he had been nicknamed "Petticoat Burle" on account of
his constant philandering. Whenever the officers, and even the privates,
met some monstrous-looking creature, some giantess puffed out with fat,
whether she were in velvet or in rags, they would invariably exclaim,
"There goes one to Petticoat Burle's taste!" Thus Melanie, with her
opulent presence, quite conquered him. He was lost--quite wrecked. In
less than a fortnight he had fallen to vacuous imbecility. With much the
expression of a whipped hound in the tiny sunken eyes which lighted
up his bloated face, he was incessantly watching the widow in mute
adoration before her masculine features and stubby hair. For fear
that he might be dismissed, he put up with the presence of the other
gentlemen of the divan and spent his pay in the place down to the last
copper. A sergeant reviewed the situation in one sentence: "Petticoat
Burle is done for; he's a buried man!"
It was nearly ten o'clock when Major Laguitte furiously flung the door
of the cafe open.
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