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Updated: June 11, 2025
Antonia's loss of some precious casket had been proclaimed to her, but she recollected that in her second thought, when she had already laid aside the napkin and discovered Jonas Bronck's hand. Lady Dorinda snapped the lid down and closed her own chest. She rose from her place and stretched both arms toward the couch at the foot of her bed.
She felt her importance grow, and was sure that the seed of a deep political intrigue lay hidden in her chest. The days which elapsed before Antonia Bronck's marriage were lived joyfully by a people who lost care in any festival. Van Corlaer brought the sleek-faced young dominie from camp and exhibited him in all his potency as the means of a Protestant marriage service.
Marguerite looked up and saw his helplessness in his face. He had sought her before, but only with reproaches. Now his resentment was broken. Twice had the dwarfs mischief thrown Marguerite on his compassion, and thereby diminished his resistance to her. Jonas Bronck's hand, in its red-hot seclusion behind the log, writhed and smoked, discharging its grosser parts up the chimney's shaft.
Come out of this room. You have opened a grave here." The Mending. But Antonia delayed to set in order her hair and cap and all her methodical habits of life. When Jonas Bronck's hand was snugly locked in its case and no longer obliged her to look at it, she took a pensive pleasure in the relic, bred of usage to its company. She came out of her chamber erect and calm.
Perhaps the dwarf had procured the hand and replaced some valuable of Madame Bronck's with it. She longed to have the little beast shaken and made to confess. While she was considering what she could do with dignity, Zélie rapped and was admitted, and Le Rossignol escaped into outside darkness. Hours passed, however, before Shubenacadie's mistress sought his society.
So good a housekeeper as Antonia will beat my pelt full often, and so be obliged to think on me." Afloat in his large personality as she always was in his presence, she yet tried to resist him. "The relic that you joke about, Mynheer Van Corlaer, I have done worse with; I have lost it." "Bronck's hand?" "Yes. It hath been stolen." "Why, I commend the taste of the thief!"
You can only hearken to what is whispered past your ear; but I can sit here on the battlements and read all the secrets below me." "Can you, Mademoiselle Nightingale? For instance, where is Madame Bronck's box?" The maid drew a deep breath at her own daring. "It is not about Madame Bronck's box that they confer. It is about the marriage of the Hollandaise," answered Le Rossignol with a bold guess.
"Because Bronck's hand has been mislaid?" inquired Van Corlaer with shrewd light in his eyes. "Yes, mynheer," hesitated Antonia. He burst into laughter and Antonia looked at him as if he had spoken against religion. She sighed. "It was my duty to open the box once every month." Van Corlaer threw his hat down again on the step above. "Are you cold, mynheer?" inquired Antonia considerately. "No.
She was already resigned to the loss of Jonas Bronck's hand, and in no slavish terror of the consequences. "And it is true I am provided with all I need," she mused on, in the line of removing objections from Van Corlaer's way.
The girlish faces, bent opposite, grew placid with domestic interest. Marie's cheeks ripened by the fire, but the whiter Hollandaise warmed only through the lips. This hall's glow made more endurable the image of Jonas Bronck's hand. "When was it cut off, Antonia?" murmured Marie, stopping to thread a needle. The perceptible blight again fell over Antonia's face as she replied,
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