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Updated: June 20, 2025
It was a matter of principle with Madame Claes to perform the duties of her religion privately. Her confessor, who was almost unknown in the family, now entered the house for the second time only; but there, as elsewhere, every one was impressed with a sort of tender admiration at the aspect of the uncle and his nephew.
But the story is just that true that there were twa o' the Queen's officers here nae mair than an hour ago, in pursuit o' the vagabond, for they gat some intelligence that he had fled this gate; yet they said he had been last seen wi' black claes on, an' they supposed he was clad in black.
She was leaving the room as she spoke to return instantly with brandy. The laird swallowed some with an effort, and began to revive. "Eh, sirs!" exclaimed Miss Horn, regarding him now more narrowly "but he's in an awfu' state o' dirt! I maun wash his face an' han's, an' pit him till 's bed. Could ye help aff wi' 's claes, Ma'colm?
"I'm wantin' a word wi' ye, Mr. Blyth," he said to his favourite one day. "What is it, Sandy?" "It's no' muckle, sir; it's jist this, ye ken. I'm wantin' an auld suit o' claes frae ye; ye're the only man hereaboot that'll fit me."
Claes, thinking she meant to yield, flung himself on his knees beside her. "Marguerite, Marguerite! give it to me give it!" he cried. "What are sixty thousand francs against eternal remorse? See, I shall die, this will kill me. Listen, my word is sacred.
Instead of an old man almost decrepit, his children, his wife, and the notary saw a Balthazar Claes who was forty years old, and whose courteous and affable presence was full of its former attractions. The weariness and suffering betrayed by the thin face and the clinging of the skin to the bones, had in themselves a sort of charm. "Good-evening, Pierquin," said Monsieur Claes.
His every look by which alone he could manifest his feelings was unchangeably affectionate; his eyes acquired such variety of expression that they had, as it were, a language of light, easy to comprehend. Marguerite paid her father's debts, and restored a modern splendor to the House of Claes which removed all outward signs of decay.
No events stirred the calm of this existence; the malady that was slowly consuming Madame Claes added to the household stillness, and in this condition of passive gloom the House of Claes reached the first weeks of the year 1816.
"Balthazar, are you so very busy? this is the thirty-third Sunday since you have been to mass or vespers." Claes did not answer; his wife bowed her head, clasped her hands, and waited: she knew that his silence meant neither contempt nor indifference, only a tyrannous preoccupation.
Though the phrase was natural enough under the circumstances, Monsieur Claes, whose conscience recalled his past life, felt it to be a reproach, and his brow clouded. The clerk began the reading. Balthazar's amazement increased as little by little the statement unfolded the facts.
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