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Updated: May 26, 2025
He could no longer recall all the nice, tender things, so sweet, so bitter, that had come to his mind that morning when he thought of the other, of little Lise, of the dainty Ashflower. What, then, had become of her, the former one, the one he had loved? That woman of far-off dreams, the blonde with gray eyes, the young girl who used to call him "Jaquelet" so prettily?
She familiarly gave him, the name of Jaquelet, and would pronounce that word in a delicious fashion. A thousand forgotten memories came back to him, far, off and sweet and melancholy now. One evening she had called on him on her way home from a ball, and they went for a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne, she in evening dress, he in his dressing-jacket. It was springtime; the weather was beautiful.
I have had so much sorrow so much sorrow. Sorrow has consumed my life. Look at me now or, rather, don't look at me! But how handsome you have kept and young! If I had by chance met you in the street I would have exclaimed: 'Jaquelet!. Now, sit down and let us, first of all, have a chat. And then I will call my daughter, my grown-up daughter.
Well, if you still recollect little Lise, whom you used to call Lison, come and dine with her this evening, with the elderly Baronne de Vance your ever faithful friend, who, with some emotion, although happy, reaches out to you a devoted hand, which you must clasp, but no longer kiss, my poor Jaquelet. Lormerin's heart began to throb.
I have had so much sorrow so much sorrow. Sorrow has consumed my life. Look at me now or, rather, don't look at me! But how handsome you have kept and young! If I had by chance met you in the street I would have exclaimed: 'Jaquelet!. Now, sit down and let us, first of all, have a chat. And then I will call my daughter, my grown-up daughter.
She familiarly gave him the name of Jaquelet, and would pronounce that word in a delicious fashion. A thousand forgotten memories came back to him, far off and sweet and melancholy now. One evening she had called on him on her way home from a ball, and they went for a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne, she in evening dress, he in his dressing-jacket. It was springtime; the weather was beautiful.
He could no longer recall all the nice, tender things, so sweet, so bitter, that had come to his mind that morning when he thought of the other, of little Lise, of the dainty Ashflower. What, then, had become of her, the former one, the one he had loved? That woman of far-off dreams, the blonde with gray eyes, the young girl who used to call him "Jaquelet" so prettily?
He could no longer recall all the nice, tender things, so sweet, so bitter, that had come to his mind that morning when he thought of the other, of little Lise, of the dainty Ashflower. What, then, had become of her, the former one, the one he had loved? That woman of far-off dreams, the blonde with gray eyes, the young girl who used to call him "Jaquelet" so prettily?
I have had so much sorrow so much sorrow. Sorrow has consumed my life. Look at me now or, rather, don't look at me! But how handsome you have kept and young! If I had by chance met you in the street I would have exclaimed: 'Jaquelet! Now, sit down and let us, first of all, have a chat. And then I will call my daughter, my grown-up daughter.
Well, if you still recollect little Lise, whom you used to call Lison, come and dine with her this evening, with the elderly Baronne de Vance your ever faithful friend, who, with some emotion, although happy, reaches out to you a devoted hand, which you must clasp, but no longer kiss, my poor Jaquelet. Lormerin's heart began to throb.
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