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Updated: May 5, 2025
As she neared the doorway of the cottage, a few heavy drops began to fall, and, in spite of her bitter trouble, she quickened her footsteps, fearing that her grandfather had come back, to find the house empty and no light or supper ready. M. de Mauprat had preceded her by not more than five minutes.
"Of course you know George Sand is a sort of old Johnnie now; nobody reads her. But that's your affair. Will you have it?" He offered it. The excitement, the wild flush in the girl's face, had subsided. She looked at the book, and at the man holding it out. "What is it?" She stooped to read the title "Mauprat." "What's it about?" "Some nonsense about a cad tamed by a sentimental young woman."
There remained the alternative more than once hinted by the Sieur de Mauprat as the months grew into years after the mother died marriage; a husband, a notable and wealthy husband. That was the magic destiny de Mauprat figured for her. It did not elate her, it did not disturb her; she scarcely realised it. She loved animals, and she saw no reason to despise a stalwart youth.
"On the contrary, Edmee maintains that you are its sage." "Does the holy child of God say that? Well, if she believes so, I will try to act as a wise man, and give you some good advice, Master Bernard Mauprat. Will you accept it?" "It seems to me that in this place every one takes upon himself to give advice. Never mind, I am listening." "You are in love with your cousin, are you not?"
You will allow me to greet you here with my profound respect. The Sieur Larchant de Mauprat" he turned to the President, his voice became louder "the Sieur de Mauprat was my friend. He was with me upon the day I married the Duchess Guidabaldine. Trouble, exile came to him. Years passed, and at last in Jersey I saw him again. It was the very day his grandchild was born.
Nor has Mauprat been burdened with a proof of the theory; only, the sentiment by which I was specially penetrated at the time of writing it is embodied in the words of Mauprat towards the end of the book: "She was the only woman I loved in all my life; none other ever won a glance from me, or knew the pressure of my hand." June 5, 1857.
But, if the truth is, as I presume, that M. Jean de Mauprat has not the least wish to hand himself over to justice, his threats are but little calculated to terrify me, and I shall take steps to prevent them from making more stir than is desirable." "So that is the only answer I am to give him?" asked the prior, darting a vindictive glance at me.
You are not Mademoiselle de Mauprat at all; and you merely want to discover if I am an apprentice capable of making love." "I swear by Christ," she answered, taking my hands in her own, which were cold as death, "that I am Edmee, your cousin, your prisoner yes, and your friend; for I have always felt an interest in you; I have always implored my father not to cease his efforts for you.
"If you want to flourish yourself, don't mind me," said he, and picking up the next account, he began reading: Mademoiselle Landresse, in the matter of the Burial of the Sieur de Mauprat, to Etienne Mahye, &c. Item The first words read by the apprentice had stilled the breaking storm of the Master's anger. It dissolved in a fragrant dew of proud reminiscence, profit, and scandal.
There were not a few people, however, who by no means looked upon John Mauprat as a saint; but they took no interest in myself, and had merely come to the trial as to a play. The enthusiasm of the bigots reached a climax when the Trappist suddenly stood up in the crowd.
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