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Updated: May 8, 2025
When it broke in upon the lives of these few persons seeking dimly for their happiness as the heathen grope for an unknown God and threw down carefully constructed plans, swept aside the strongest will and crushed the stoutest heart, it was only working out its destiny. The dust sprinkled on Desiree's hair had fallen on the faces of thousands of dead.
Barlasch was cleaning a knife, and nodded a silent good morning. Desiree's eyes were red, and Barlasch must have noted this sign of grief, for he gave a contemptuous laugh, and continued his occupation. It was barely daylight when the Grafin's heavy, old-fashioned carriage drew up in front of the house. Mathilde came down, thickly veiled and in her travelling furs.
"You don't need to turn up your nose," I retorted to her expressive grimace; "you ate some of the stuff yourself." There was a silence; then suddenly Desiree's voice came: "Paul " She hesitated and stopped. "Yes." "What do you think of me?" "Do you want a lengthy review?" I smiled. What a woman she was! Under those circumstances, and amid those surroundings, she was still Desiree Le Mire.
Mamma Delobelle sits by Desiree's bed, working by the light from the window, and nursing her daughter. From time to time she raises her eyes to contemplate that mute despair, that mysterious disease, then hastily resumes her work; for it is one of the hardest trials of the poor that they can not suffer at their ease.
Mamma Delobelle had to work alone now, and her fingers had not the marvellous dexterity of Desiree's little hands; medicines were dear, and she would not for anything in the world have interfered with one of "the father's" cherished habits.
Mamma Delobelle had to work alone now, and her fingers had not the marvellous dexterity of Desiree's little hands; medicines were dear, and she would not for anything in the world have interfered with one of "the father's" cherished habits.
So I sat still, with Desiree's body in my arms, and waited for him. My sensations were not unpleasant. I could actually feel the blood quicken in my veins. Civilization places the temple of life in the soul or the heart, as she speaks through the mouth of the preacher or the poet; but let civilization go for four or five days without anything to eat and see what happens.
About them, at a respectful distance, were ranged attendants and guards a hundred or more, for the alcove was of an impressive size. The light from the four urns shone in upon it with such brightness that I could clearly distinguish the whites of Desiree's eyes. All this I saw in a single flash, and I turned to Harry: "Not a word, on your life! This is Desiree's game; trust her to play it."
If he had looked under Desiree's pillow, he would have found there a letter postmarked Cairo, wherein lay the secret of that happy change. Four pages signed by Frantz, his whole conduct confessed and explained to his dear little Zizi. It was the very letter of which the sick girl had dreamed.
During the whole evening they had done nothing but talk of Frantz, of his success, of the future that lay before him. "Now," said Mamma Delobelle, "the only thing he needs is to find a good little wife." That was Desiree's opinion, too. That was all that was lacking now to Frantz's happiness, a good little wife, active and brave and accustomed to work, who would forget everything for him.
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