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Nor was Desiree alone in the trial which had drawn certain lines about her gay lips; for Mathilde had told her father and sister that should Colonel de Casimir return from the war he would ask her hand in marriage. "And that other the Colonel," added Barlasch, glancing at Mathilde, "he is on the staff too. They are safe enough, I tell you that. They are doubtless together.
The Countess, beautiful in her pallor, and looking more angel than woman in the plain robe of blue that clothed her slight figure, met me with a face of mingled reproach, pity, and horror. Mathilde was in tears and utterly downcast. I could see at a glance how matters stood, and ere I had made two steps beyond the threshold, I stopped, abashed.
When they came out of the dining-room Pete said to Mathilde with the utmost clearness: "And what was that magazine you spoke of?" She had spoken of no magazine, but she caught the idea, the clever, rather wicked idea. He made her work her mind almost too fast sometimes, but she enjoyed it. "Wasn't it this?" she asked, with a beating heart.
Cheering drifted in through the open window. Mathilde sat in a chair. She was watching him. "Hello!" he murmured. "What's up?" "Erik ..." She fell to her knees beside the bed and began to weep. He lay quietly listening to her. Bandages around his head. A lunatic with a gun. Yes. Rachel. The man had been in love with Rachel. Pains like noises in his ears. "You mustn't talk...." "I'm all right.
"Yes," he would reply to watching mothers, who tried to lead him to say that their daughter was the best dancer in the school: "Yes, Mathilde puts it into their heads, and Desiree shakes it down to their feet." In all matters of the household Desiree played a similar part.
Superior persons often smile at these Mathildes of the great. They have smiled no little at Mathilde Crescence Mirat; but he who was perhaps the greatest mocker that ever lived knew better than to laugh at Mathilde.
Like a flash Alixe was beside him, and put to his lips most swiftly the little wooden cross that Mathilde had given her. "Gabord, Gabord," she said in a sweet, sad voice, "when you may come to die, a girl's prayers will be waiting at God's feet for you." He stopped, and stared at her.
Mathilde de , heiress of a Belgian count, and sundry other children of patrician race, the directress was careful of them as of the others, anxious for their progress, as for that of the rest but it never seemed to enter her head to distinguish them by a mark of preference; one girl of noble blood she loved dearly a young Irish baroness lady Catherine ; but it was for her enthusiastic heart and clever head, for her generosity and her genius, the title and rank went for nothing.
She and Mathilde had long known that any mention of France had the instant effect of turning their father into a man of stone. It was the skeleton in this quiet house that sat at table with its inmates, a shadowy fourth tying their tongues. The rattle of its bones seemed to paralyze Sebastian's mind, and at any moment he would fall into a dumb and stricken apathy which terrified those about him.
She had picked up the letters, every one, and stood reading them with parted lips and staring eyes. It was Mathilde who saved him from a violent illness, closing the box and leading him downstairs, and whispered something incomprehensible in his ear as she pointed him homeward. "Le vrai medecin c'est toi, mon mignon."
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