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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Yes. Or pretends to be. I have had it for years." "And she? Rose-Marie?" "I don't know. It was twenty years ago in Paris." Félicité's story recurred to Brigit, the "bad time" in Paris; "how he loved them all for the time." He was smoking fitfully, and frowning to himself. She was again forgotten. It was very warm, and the curtains swayed in irregular puffs of wind; then came a rumble of thunder.
She was busy with these thoughts all night; and on the morrow, as she opened the shutters, she instinctively cast her first glance across the street towards Monsieur Peirotte's house, and smiled as she contemplated the broad damask curtains hanging in the windows. Felicite's hopes, in becoming modified, had grown yet more intense. Like all women, she did not object to a tinge of mystery.
The village was seated midway on the slope, among olive trees, and the country house of Uncle Macquart stood a little apart on the left, full in view. The landau turned into the road which led to the insane asylum, whose white walls they could see before them in the distance. Felicite's silence had grown somber, for she was not fond of exhibiting Uncle Macquart.
The populace of Nantes, during the last days of the Terror, tore down the chateau, seized the nuns and Mademoiselle des Touches, and threw them into prison on a false charge of receiving emissaries of Pitt and Coburg. The 9th Thermidor released them. Felicite's aunt died of fear.
Such was Felicite's emotion, that she almost had a nervous attack. It was a fine evening for the yellow drawing-room. However, the marquis still looked at Felicite with the same mysterious smile. This little old man was far too shrewd to be ignorant of whither France was tending. He was among the first to scent the coming of the Empire.
Then a hall, which led to the study, where books and papers were piled on the shelves of a book-case that enclosed three quarters of the big black desk. Two panels were entirely hidden under pen-and-ink sketches, Gouache landscapes and Audran engravings, relics of better times and vanished luxury. On the second floor, a garret-window lighted Felicite's room, which looked out upon the meadows.
Every Thursday, friends of Madame Aubain dropped in for a game of cards, and it was Félicité's duty to prepare the table and heat the foot-warmers. They arrived at exactly eight o'clock and departed before eleven. Every Monday morning, the dealer in second-hand goods, who lived under the alley-way, spread out his wares on the sidewalk.
But this new disappointment put the finishing stroke to Felicite's ill-humor; she grew angry when Macquart proposed that all five should go in a body in search of the boy. "What an idea! Go you alone, and come back quickly. We have no time to lose."
Paul, who had become quite settled, brought his bride to visit his mother. But she looked down upon the customs of Pont-l'Eveque, put on airs, and hurt Felicite's feelings. Madame Aubain felt relieved when she left. The following week they learned of Monsieur Bourais' death in an inn. There were rumours of suicide, which were confirmed; doubts concerning his integrity arose.
One morning, after one of these misunderstandings which had lasted since the day before, Martine said as she was serving the breakfast: "Just now as I was crossing the Place de la Sous-Prefecture, I saw a stranger whom I thought I recognized going into Mme. Felicite's house. Yes, mademoiselle, I should not be surprised if it were your brother."
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