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Updated: May 31, 2025
She does not speak, but hums to herself, and walks more lightly and softly than ever, as though she feared to waken some sleeper. ... I remember how Malthe and I were once talking about Greece, and he gave me an account of a snowstorm in Delphi. I cannot recall a word of his description; I was not listening, but just thinking how the snow would melt when it fell upon his head.
Was it the warm russet tint of the trees or the profound perfume of the woods that induced this calm? All day long I have been thinking of Malthe, and I feel so glad I have acted as I have done. But he might have answered my letter. Jeanne has discovered the secret of my hair. She asked permission to dress it for me in the evening when my hair is "awake."
Joergen Malthe, I would gladly confide in you, but it is impossible. Call it madness, or what you will, but I cannot allow any human being to penetrate my inner life.
An old Chevalier de Malthe, of ancient noblesse, but in low circumstances, was in a coffee-house at Paris, where was Julien, the great manufacturer at the Gobelins, of the fine tapestry, so much distinguished both for the figures and the colours. The chevalier's carriage was very old.
But you were too honourable even to cherish the thought. Besides, I let you suppose I was attached to my husband.... I knew well enough that the moment you became aware of my feelings for you, you would leave no stone unturned until you could legitimately claim me as your wife.... Such is your nature, Joergen Malthe! So I let happiness go by.
Unfortunately it looks to the north, straight across the open sea. I have not yet been outside the garden. I have made up my mind to keep to this little spot as long as possible. I shall get accustomed to it. I must get accustomed to it. Dear souls, how they worry me with their letters. Only Malthe keeps silence. Will he deign to answer me?
One more thing, in profound confidence, and on the understanding that you will not say a word about it to my husband: Joergen Malthe, dear fellow, formerly honoured me with his youthful affections as you all knew, to your great amusement. Probably, like a true man, he will be quite frantic when he hears of my strange retirement.
I played with him treacherously when I called him "the youth," and treated him as a mere boy. If we compare our ages it is true enough, but not if we compare feelings. Can there be anything meaner than for a woman to make fun of what is really sacred to her? My feelings for Malthe were and still are sacred. I myself have befouled them with my mockery.
What does it matter to me? I would far rather they wrote: "To-day a motor-car ran over Joergen Malthe and killed him on the spot." I have arrived at that stage. But to-night I will not think about him; I would rather try to write to Magna Wellmann. I may be of some use to her. In any case I will tell her things that it will do her good to hear. She is one of those who take life hard.
Dooll, but the mutton good Les Bains de Sextius Ironwork caps to towers S. Jean de Malthe Museum Cathedral Tapestries and tombs The cloisters View from S. Eutrope King Rene of Anjou His misfortunes His cheeriness His statue at Aix Introduces the Muscat grape.
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