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The soft signs of her tenderness, ever-present yet at the moment forced, instead of brightening Cesar's face made it more sombre, and brought the long-repressed tears into his eyes. Poor man! he had gone over this road twenty years before, young, prosperous, full of hope, the lover of a girl as beautiful as their own Cesarine; he was dreaming then of happiness.
Master does not wish to be obliged to M. Daniels and, besides, he, too, does not get in the cash for his company any too rapidly. Master ran into debt while making his guns and cannon, and we have been pinched for ready money." "I am glad to hear it!" ejaculated Césarine, without spitefulness, and with more sincerity than she had spoken previously. The girl stared without understanding.
"Cesarine," ordered Mme. de Thaller, her arm extended towards the door "Cesarine, leave the room; I command you." But motionless in her place the girl cast upon her mother a look of defiance. "Come, calm yourself," she said in a tone of crushing irony, "or you'll spoil your complexion for the rest of the evening. Do I complain? do I get excited?
Césarine threw off a cloak, trimmed with fur, and more suitable for a colder season, but it was a sable with a sprinkling of isolated white hairs most peculiar and a present from her granduncle. She tottered and seemed weak, for she had concluded that an affection of illness would aid her re-entrance. As Hedwig extinguished the lamp, she sank into an arm-chair.
"Oh! and don't forget the sister-in-law of Monsieur Lebas, Madame Augustine Sommervieux," said Cesarine. "Poor little woman, she is so delicate; she is dying of grief, so Monsieur Lebas says." "That's what it is to marry artists!" cried her father. "Look! there's your mother asleep," he whispered.
When they escape feminine influence, they are impregnable, and strong measures must be employed." "Strong measures," repeated Césarine, shuddering at the icy, passionless tone like a lecturer's. "They must be blotted off the book of life and it is always painful to have to proceed to such extremities.
At each shock, Césarine had trembled like the guilty. They had told her that she was born in St.
A terrible bill for binding was in the background. The celebrated and dilatory binder, Thouvenin, had promised to deliver the volumes at twelve o'clock in the morning of the 16th. Cesarine confided her anxiety to her uncle Pillerault, and he had promised to pay the bill.
Roguin's head-clerk, Alexandre Crottat, who was gifted with the precocious experience which comes from knowledge acquired in a lawyer's office, had an air and manner that was half cynical, half silly, which revolted Cesarine, already disgusted by the trite and commonplace character of his conversation.
A marked gravity governed them both of late; they shut themselves up for hours in their study, but instead of the silence becoming artists, noises of hammering and filing metal sounded, and the chimney belched black smoke of which the neighbors would have had reason to complain. "A fresh craze!" thought Césarine, dismissing curiosity from her mind.
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