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Updated: May 22, 2025
Really, it's too bad to burden you with my melancholy." "Ah! my old friend, you can arrange just such happiness as ours for yourself," said honest Sigismond with beaming face. "I have my sister, you have your brother. What do we lack?" Risler smiled vaguely. He fancied himself already installed with Frantz in a quiet little quakerish house like that.
While Risler was gazing at him, Frantz, on his side, was closely scrutinizing his brother, and, finding him the same as always, as ingenuous, as loving, and as absent-minded as times, he said to himself: "No! it is not possible he has not ceased to be an honest man."
Scarcely was he settled in Hâselnoss's vast house when he peopled the back yard with outlandish birds Barbary geese with scarlet cheeks, Guinea hens, and a white peacock, which perched habitually on the garden wall, and which divided with the negress the admiration of the mountaineers. If I enter into these details, Master Frantz, it's because they recall my early youth; Dr.
That dear, loving voice, too natural, too real for a dream, made him open his eyes without more ado. Risler was standing by his bed, watching his awakening with a charming smile, not untinged by emotion; that it was Risler himself was evident from the fact that, in his joy at seeing his brother Frantz once more, he could find nothing better to say than, "I am very happy, I am very happy!"
A young Austrian, Herr Otto Frantz, with his wife, going out as first secretary of legation to Tokio; Major Twining, R.E., and his wife; and Miss Lungley, a cosmopolitan lady, who makes Kashmir her headquarters and Rome her annexe. We became acquainted with each other sooner than might have been expected, by reason of an exploit of the stewardess a gibbering idiot.
It was enough to drive the unlucky judge mad as well. But no! The siren had been unfortunate in her choice of a ballad. For, at the mere name of Mam'zelle Zizi, Frantz was suddenly transported to a gloomy chamber in the Marais, a long way from Sidonie's salon, and his compassionate heart evoked the image of little Desiree Delobelle, who had loved him so long.
Thereupon Frantz made up his mind to ring at the small gate. The gardener was raking the paths. The house was astir; and, early as it was, he heard Sidonie's voice as clear and vibrating as the song of a bird among the rose-bushes of the facade. She was talking with animation. Frantz, deeply moved, drew near to listen. "No, no cream. The 'cafe parfait' will be enough.
There were disappointments, mutterings, remonstrances, hours missed, money drawn in advance; and above the tinkling of coins, Sigismond's voice could be heard, calm and relentless, defending the interests of his employers with a zeal amounting to ferocity. Frantz was familiar with all the dramas of pay-day, the false accents and the true.
The poor fellow fairly beamed with happiness; he, the silent man, chattered like a magpie, gazed admiringly at his Frantz and remarked upon his growth.
That dear, loving voice, too natural, too real for a dream, made him open his eyes without more ado. Risler was standing by his bed, watching his awakening with a charming smile, not untinged by emotion; that it was Risler himself was evident from the fact that, in his joy at seeing his brother Frantz once more, he could find nothing better to say than, "I am very happy, I am very happy!"
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