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Updated: May 3, 2025
"But did you not foresee it?" asked Madame Bozier persistently, "Did you not realize that men always want what they cannot have and that the very fact of your leaving Paris increased his ardour and sent him on here in pursuit?" Sylvie Hermenstein was of a very truthful nature, and she had not attempted to deny this suggestion.
"And what of the Marquis Fontenelle?" asked Madame Bozier. "Madama, I posted all the letters he entrusted to my charge.
I like that man's eyes. They are SUCH a contrast to the sleepy tiger eyes of the Marquis Fontenelle!" "My dear Sylvie!" remonstrated Madame Bozier, "How can you run on in this way? Do you want to break any more hearts? You are like a lamp for unfortunate moths to burn themselves in!"
One does not hear nearly so much of the feuds in which Dante was concerned, as of his love for Beatrice. It is always so, only few people are capable of the strength and patience and devotion needed for this great consummation of life. Now I " Madame Bozier smiled, and with tender fingers arranged one of the stray knots of pearls with which Sylvie's white gown was adorned. "You dear child!
And when they were calmer, and began to think of the possibility of the worthy Bozier suddenly recovering from her neuralgia and coming to look after her pupil, or the undesired but likely entrance of a servant to attend to the lamps, or to put fresh wood on the fire, they turned each from the other, with reluctance and half laughing decorum, Sylvie resuming her seat by the fire, and Aubrey flinging himself with happy recklessness in a low fauteuil as near to her as could be permitted for a gentleman visitor, who might be considered as enthusiastically expounding literature or science to a fascinating hostess.
He was afflicted with chronic rheumatism and gout, and to be quite honest, I could never flatter myself that he thought of me more than the gout. There! I knew that would amuse you!" this, as Sylvie's pretty tender laugh rippled out again on the air, "And though it sounds as if it were a jest, it is perfectly true. Poor Monsieur Bozier!
"Well, and now that you know he is not the hero you imagined him, all you have to do is to tell him so," said the practical Bozier cheerfully, "Or if you do not want to pain him by such absolute candour, give him his refusal as gently and kindly as you can." Sylvie sighed again. "I am very sorry," she said, "If I could have foreseen this perhaps "
It is not cold, and there is a lace wrap on the chair, put it round your dear old head and come and be romantic with me!" and she laughed as the worthy Bozier obeyed her, and came cautiously out among the angels' sculptured wings. "Ah, dear Katrine!
Madame Bozier came quickly to her side, and put a hand gently on her arm. But she did not seem to feel the sympathetic touch. "His death!" she murmured. And with trembling fingers she opened and read the last lines ever penned by her too passionate admirer. "SWEETEST SYLVIE! Dearest and purest of women! If you ever receive this letter I shall be gone beyond the reach of your praise or your blame.
If they need to reform, they must reform themselves. We make our own lives what they are." "Dear little philosopher!" said Madame Bozier tenderly, taking Sylvie's small white hand as it hung down from her shoulder and kissing it, "You are very depressed to-day! You must not take things so seriously! If you do not love the Marquis as you once did "
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