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Updated: May 5, 2025
I've an industrial scheme in my head, and if it succeeds I shall earn millions." "Ah! my boy, you have your mother's soul," said the old man, his eyes filling at the thought of his sister. Just then, in spite of the distance between Octave's garret and the street, the young man heard the sound of a carriage. "There she is!" he cried; "I know her horses by the way they are pulled up."
"We find the following, three days later: 'Oct. 29th, 1842. I am most uneasy about my health. I feel shooting pains in all my joints. The derangement of my system arises entirely from this business of Octave's. I had to run the gauntlet of a second court, and the judge's eyes seemed to look me through and through.
Suddenly she sat up, opened her eyes, and gazed about her in silent astonishment. "What has happened?" said she, "and how is it that you are here? Ah! this is dreadful indeed; you have cruelly punished me for my weakness." This sudden severity after her delicious abandon, changed Octave's pleasure into angry vexation. "You are the one," he replied, "who are cruel!
These symptoms, which he considered a bad augury, increased Octave's irritation. He arose and said in a bitter tone: "Fear nothing! I will not abuse the words which have escaped you, however flattering or charming they may have been; they told me that you loved me. I do not believe it any longer; you are agitated, I can see; but it is from fear and not love."
"Not quite; still I should like to know what good fortune has rendered you so happy?" "Wait until Hattie is beyond hearing. Come, take away these dishes, and be sure to eat every morsel of that omelette, for I would not willingly mortify Octave's vanity. When you have regaled yourself with it, show him the empty dish, tell him it was delicious, and that I send thanks.
But, nevertheless, individuals of all species envied or disputed Octave's happiness, agreeing, for once in a way, that Madame Firmiani was the most aristocratically beautiful woman in Paris. She was therefore sought by too many men not to fall a victim to Parisian malice and its charming calumnies, whispered behind a fan or in a safe aside.
She remained thus for an instant, then arose with a start, seized Octave's hands and pressed them in a convulsive manner, saying in a voice as weak as a dying woman's: "I am lost!" He instinctively followed Clemence's gaze, which was fastened upon the glass door. An almost imperceptible movement of the muslin curtain was evident.
A moment before, she had invoked Octave's image and seated it lovingly by her side. When she believed this realization possible, all she thought of was to prevent it. She was sure that her lover never had entered the closet through the parlor, as he never had been in this part of the house farther than the little drawing-room.
It was, in a way, by reflection that Octave's passion reached Clemence. Every few moments she learned some detail of this indirect attack, to which it was impossible for her to raise any objections. "Monsieur de Gerfaut has promised to spend a fortnight longer with us," said her aunt to her, in a jeering tone.
For when the queen has passed, what remains upon the mantle? Mud!" Clemence had expected her lover's anger, but not his scorn; she had not strength to endure this torture, and the conjugal love which had, not without difficulty, inflamed her heart for the last few days, fell to ashes at the first breath of Octave's indignation.
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