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In ten words Daniel had told him every thing, and even shown him that masterpiece of forgery, which he attributed to Miss Brandon's mind, and M. Elgin's skill. Then, without heeding Maxime's exclamations of wonder and indignation, loud and deep as they were, he continued, "Now, my dear Maxime, listen to me. It may be my last will which I am going to give in your charge."
"She did not stay in it six months. She was too handsome to keep a reading-room." "Perhaps you are the father of her child?" suggested the lorette. Desroches resumed. "Since the firm bought up Maxime's debts, Cerizet's likeness to a bailiff's officer grew more and more striking, and one morning after seven fruitless attempts he succeeded in penetrating into the Count's presence.
He is blinded by prejudice. Maxime promises the good priest to visit him. He wonders if the savage Don would decline a word. If the frightened, faded wife would deign to speak to the Americano. If the budding beauty would now cast roses slyly at him from the bowers of her childhood. Maxime's heart is young and warm. He is chilled in his affections. The loss of his parents made his life lonely.
Springing inside he finds Padre Francisco, his eyes lit up with the courage of a gallant French gentleman. "They are all here," he gasps. "Safe?" queries Valois. "Yes." "Thank God!" Maxime cries. "Quick! Hurry them into the church. Hold the sacristy door." Maxime's two or three friends have followed him. The doors are closed behind them. The heavy adobe walls are shot-proof.
How many things were clear to him now, which he had not understood at the time! Maxime's silence, the reproach in his eyes. The worst of all was when he recognised that he had understood, at the time, when his son was there, but that he would not admit it. This discovery, which had hung over him like a dark cloud for weeks, this realisation of inward falsehood, crushed him to the earth.
"But see," said Vinet, interposing to cut off Maxime's reply, which would doubtless have been bitter; "suppose we send the affair to the criminal courts, and the peasant-woman, instigated by the Beauvisage couple, should denounce the man who had sworn before a notary, and offered himself for election falsely, as a Sallenauve: the question is one for the court of assizes." "But proofs?
It is backed by the forest, where swaying pines are singing the same old song of seven long years ago. His eye sweeps over the scene. Quick as a flash, Valois springs back to the horses. Two mounted cavaliers, followed by a serving man, can be seen smartly loping away to the southeast. They are bending towards the region where Love's course, the trail of the bandits, and Maxime's march intersect.
Maxime's comrade blew out a mouthful of smoke. "Well, youngster," he said, "it didn't go right, back there this time, did it? I guessed as much!" "I don't know why." "When one is hurt, and the other isn't, they haven't much to say to one another." "Oh, they suffer too." "Not the same. You can't make a man know what a toothache is unless he feels it. Can't be done.
The Countess had no need of the adventitious aid of corsets; her girdle defined the outlines of her slender waist; her throat was a challenge to love; her feet, thrust into slippers, were daintily small. As Maxime took her hand and kissed it, Eugene became aware of Maxime's existence, and the Countess saw Eugene. "Oh! is that you M. de Rastignac?
He listened, wiping away his tears; his wife had locked herself into Maxime's room as she did every evening, and was folding and unfolding his clothes, arranging the things left behind.... He went into the room where Rosine sat alone by the window, sewing.
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