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Updated: May 29, 2025
She is the ministering angel in the valley. As for those she receives, there are only the cure and Monsieur de Dalens during vacation." "Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?" "He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he only comes here for the chase." "Is he young?" "Yes." "Is he related to Madame Pierson?" "No, he was a friend of her husband."
I wish to express my regret that I was charged to communicate a message which appeared so unwelcome." I returned his compliment, supposing he would leave me at once; but he walked along at my side. "Dalens! Dalens!" I repeated, between my teeth, "who will tell me about Dalens?" For Larive had told me nothing except what a valet might learn. From whom had he learned it?
Our treaty was sealed with a kiss, and when I left her we had both forgotten that M. de Dalens ever existed. A kind of stagnant inertia, tempered with bitter joy, is characteristic of debauchery.
"Has her husband been dead long?" "Five years on All-Saints' day. He was a worthy man." "And has this Monsieur de Dalens paid court?" "To the widow? In faith to tell the truth " he stopped, embarrassed. "Well, will you answer me?" "Some say so and some do not I know nothing and have seen nothing." "And you just told me that they do not talk about her in the country?"
M. de Dalens had loved her; but he was a man of frivolous disposition, dissipated and inconstant, she had given him to understand that, not wishing to remarry, she could only request that he drop the role of suitor, and he had yielded to her wishes with good grace; but his visits had become more rare since that time, until now they had ceased altogether.
"Listen to me," I whispered in her ear, "I am a wretched fool, but I can keep nothing on my heart. Who is this Monsieur de Dalens who lives on the mountain and comes to see you?" She appeared astonished to hear me mention that name. "Dalens?" she replied. "He was my husband's friend." She looked at me as if to inquire: "Why do you ask?" It seemed to me that her face wore a grieved expression.
She is the ministering angel in the valley. As for those she receives, there are only the cure and M. de Dalens, during vacation." "Who is this M. de Dalens?" "He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he only comes here for the chase." "Is he young?" "Yes." "Is he related to Madame Pierson?" "No, he was a friend of her husband." "Has her husband been dead long?"
"Listen to me," I whispered in her ear, "I am a wretched fool, but I can keep nothing on my heart. Who is this Monsieur de Dalens who lives on the mountain and comes to see you?" She appeared astonished to hear me mention that name. "Dalens?" she replied. "He was my husband's friend." She looked at me as if to inquire: "Why do you ask?" It seemed to me that her face wore a grieved expression.
Our treaty was sealed with a kiss, and when I left her we had both forgotten that M. de Dalens ever existed. A kind of stagnant inertia, tempered with bitter joy, is characteristic of debauchery.
She is the ministering angel in the valley. As for those she receives, there are only the cure and Monsieur de Dalens during vacation." "Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?" "He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he only comes here for the chase." "Is he young?" "Yes." "Is he related to Madame Pierson?" "No, he was a friend of her husband."
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