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Updated: June 26, 2025
Even now I cannot hear "Nous n'irons plus an bois," or "Il pleut, il pleut, bergère" without my heart beating rather more quickly than is its wont. There can be no doubt that but for the fatal vice which held me fast, I should have been in love with Noémi two or three years later; but I was a slave to reasoning, and my whole time was devoted to religious dialectics.
So he showed her the two laurels which had helped him, and she, like a prudent girl, thinking they gave him too much advantage over his wife, cut them off at the root and threw them in the fire. And this is why the country girls go about singing: Nous n'irons plus au bois, Les lauriers sont coupes, and dancing in summer by the light of the moon.
"'Toute la Basse Silesie, la riviere de Neisse pour limite, la ville de Neisse a nous, aussi bien que Glatz; de l'autre cote de l'Oder l'ancien limite entre les Duches de Brieg et d'Oppeln. Namslau a nous. Les affaires de religion IN STATU QUO. Point de dependance de la Boheme; cession eternelle. En echange nous n'irons pas plus loin.
Nous n'irons plus aux bois! Basta! But to return. There she stood, terror-stricken, petrified, like her who of old turned her back on Zoar and beheld the incandescent hurricane of hail smite the City of the Plain! She was dressed in white muslin, joli comme un coeur, with a myriad frills and flounces and knots of pale-coloured ribbon.
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