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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Why, then, you do wrong. You ought to be offended with people who seek always to wound and humiliate you." He still had upon his mind the refusal to furnish funds for his theatrical project, and he made no secret of his wrath. "If you knew," he said to Frantz, "if you knew how money is being squandered over yonder! It is a great pity. And nothing substantial, nothing sensible.
Whenever Frantz came down from his brother's closet, old Sigismond was sure to be watching for him, and would walk a few steps with him in his long, lute-string sleeves, quill and knife in hand. He kept the young man informed concerning matters at the factory. For some time past, things seemed to have changed for the better.
"Frantz Frantz!" she said; and they remained there side by side, silent and burning with emotion, soothed by Madame Dobson's romance, which reached their ears by snatches through the shrubbery: "Ton amour, c'est ma folie. Helas! je n'en puis guei-i-i-r." Suddenly Risler's tall figure appeared in the doorway. "This way, Chebe, this way. They are in the summerhouse."
And then she was clever and bright, and so loving! No one but Desiree knew how fondly that little woman loved Frantz, and how she had thought of him night and day for years. He had not noticed it himself, but seemed to have eyes for nobody but Sidonie, a gamine. But no matter! Silent love is so eloquent, such a mighty power lies hid in restrained feelings. Who knows?
She had promised to marry Frantz when he had obtained a good situation; and now an engineer's berth in the South, at the smelting-furnaces of Grand Combe, was offered to him. That was sufficient for the support of a modest establishment. There was no way of avoiding the question. She must either keep her promise or invent an excuse for breaking it. But what excuse could she invent?
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."
The doctors are mistaken; it is not pneumonia. Is it her love, then, that is killing her? No. Since that terrible night she no longer thinks of Frantz, she no longer feels that she is worthy to love or to be loved. Thenceforth there is a stain upon her spotless life, and it is of the shame of that and of nothing else that she is dying.
With another husband I might perhaps have succeeded, but with Risler it was terrible. He was forever talking about you and your success and your future Frantz said this; Frantz did that He loves you so well, poor fellow! And then the most cruel thing to me is that your brother looks like you.
Pray come in, Monsieur Frantz. We're waiting for father, as you see. These brigands of artists always stay out so late! Take a seat you shall have supper with him." "Oh! no, thank you," replied Frantz, whose lips were still pale from the emotion he had undergone, "I can't stop.
Carefully dressed, his whole person denoting a holiday air, Frantz had a singular expression on his face that day, an expression at once timid and resolute, emotional and solemn, and simply from the way in which the little low chair took its place beside the great easy-chair, the easy-chair understood that a very serious communication was about to be made to it in confidence, and it had some little suspicion as to what it might be.
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