United States or Kazakhstan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The nephew presented the doctor to his wife, the only daughter of the late Levrault-Cremiere, who had died twelve years earlier, leaving him the post business and the finest inn in Nemours. "Well, nephew," said the doctor, "have I any other relatives?" "My aunt Minoret, your sister, married a Massin-Massin " "Yes, I know, the bailiff of Saint-Lange."
Helene is not his child! Oh! do not start. At Saint-Lange there are volcanic depths whence come lurid gleams of light and earthquake shocks to shake the fragile edifices of laws not based on nature. I have borne a child, that is enough, I am a mother in the eyes of the law.
None of these, however, could throw any light on the calamity which had brought their mistress into the country at the beginning of winter, and to the old chateau of Saint-Lange of all places, when she might have taken her choice of cheerful country-houses famous for their beautiful gardens. His worship the mayor called to pay his respects; but he did not see the lady.
Heaven grant that hate may not grow up between us! Ah! God in heaven, rather let the tomb open for me, rather let me end my days here at Saint-Lange! I want to go back to the world where I shall find my other soul and become wholly a mother. Ah! forgive me, sir, I am mad. Those words were choking me; now they are spoken. Ah! you are weeping too! You will not despise me "
You will pardon an old man, will you not, for importunity which has your own happiness for its object?" "There is no more happiness for me, monsieur. I shall soon be, as you say, in your province; but it will be for ever." "Nay, madame. You will not die of this pain which lies heavy upon you, and can be read in your face. If you had been destined to die of it, you would not be here at Saint-Lange.
That evening, when the notables of Saint-Lange were drinking in the private room of the wineshop, the longest head among them declared that such depression could admit of but one construction the Marquise was ruined. The Marquis was one of the greatest gamblers on the face of the globe. Perhaps the estate would be cut up and sold in little lots.
In the very centre of the plain, at equal distances from Moret and Montereau, the traveler passes the old chateau of Saint-Lange, standing amid surroundings which lack neither dignity nor stateliness.
Village politicians were by no means pleased to see the young, delicate, downcast face; they had hoped that the new arrival at Saint-Lange would bring some life and stir into the neighborhood, and clearly any sort of stir or movement must be distasteful to the suffering invalid in the traveling carriage.
These exclusives visited none but nobles who possessed lands or chateaus in the neighbourhood; of the latter we may mention the d'Aiglemonts, owners of the beautiful estate of Saint-Lange, and the Marquis du Rouvre, whose property, crippled by mortgages, was closely watched by the bourgeoisie. The nobles of the town had no money.
The Marquise and the cure looked out at the foggy landscape, as if they could see the figures of those who were no more. "Not a priest in a city, but a simple country cure," added he. "At Saint-Lange," she said, drying her eyes. "Yes, madame." Never had the majesty of grief seemed so great to Julie. The two words sank straight into her heart with the weight of infinite sorrow.
Word Of The Day