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Updated: May 23, 2025
But the daughter's independence was as nothing compared to the worry which the other child gave the Desnoyers. Ay, that other one! . . . Julio, upon arriving in Paris, had changed the bent of his aspirations. He no longer thought of becoming an engineer; he wished to become an artist. Don Marcelo objected in great consternation, but finally yielded. Let it be painting!
Yon cavalier is, without a doubt, the mysterious admirer of San Ildefonso." Don Julio Montero for that was the name of the cavalier returned again beneath the casement, and again saw Magdalena. He also made some purchases of the old goldsmith, and managed to speak a word with his fair daughter in the shop; and in spite of the duenna, billets were exchanged between the parties.
Some had been wounded three times since the beginning of the war, and were returning surgically patched together and re-galvanized to take another chance in the lottery of Fate, always in the expectation of the supreme blow. . . . Ay, her son! Desnoyers waxed very indignant over his wife's low spirits, retorting: "But I tell you that Nobody will kill Julio! . . . He is my son.
Standing still for a few seconds, one could hear in that nocturnal peace a confused, continuous murmur of life, a thousand slight sounds, the harmony of which seemed like silence. A quail in a neighboring field uttered her double cry, and Julio, his ears erect, glided furtively toward the two flute-like notes of the bird, Annette following, as softly as he, holding her breath and crouching low.
But you must change your name and simply notify me that you need money to continue your business. And your new name? It seems to me that 'Marco Castagno' would answer. What say you?" Julio shook his head doubtfully, muttering between his teeth. Although the promise of two hundred crowns was seductive, he hesitated to accept his master's proposition. "Why deliberate so long?" said Simon.
That others should die was but natural, but Julio! . . . As they got further and further away from the soldier boy, Hope appeared to be singing in his ears; and as an echo of his pleasing musings, the father kept repeating mentally: "No one will kill him. My heart which never deceives me, tells me so. . . . No one will kill him!" Four months later, Don Marcelo's confidence received a rude shock.
He knew that it must be Julio by the Chief's gesture and because the smiling soldier was coming toward him, holding out his hands; but this time his paternal instinct which he had heretofore considered an infallible thing, had given him no warning.
He needed to see Rene and had begun negotiating for a permit from headquarters which would allow him to visit the front. His son belonged to the same army division as Julio; perhaps their camps were rather far apart, but an automobile makes many revolutions before it reaches the end of its journey. It was not necessary to say more.
Oh! if I could thus repay the debt of gratitude I owe you! Julio, were God to prolong your life, would you renounce evil and return courageously and sincerely to the path of duty and virtue? You say yes? You implore God's mercy, do you not? You have confidence in the inexhaustible treasure of his goodness?
A few strokes preserved the outline which his memory filled up; and by an intuitive glance, his genius understood and appropriated every signal beauty. In Venice he became acquainted with the Archduke Albert, who introduced him to the Duke of Mantua, whither he went for the purpose of studying the works of Julio Romano.
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