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Updated: May 10, 2025
Christophe was the only one to forget them when the party broke up. And now, on Olivier's question, they rushed back to his memory. He felt a little shiver run down his spine.
The far-off sound of vehicles in the streets penetrated the walls; and she listened to hear whether that rolling of wheels did not stop before the door, whether her husband were not coming to deliver her, to tear her away at last from this sad tete-a-tete. As she tried to draw her hand from Olivier's, he pressed it, uttering a deep sigh!
He had no means of understanding them. He lacked Olivier's psychological insight and quickness. But he loved them. Instinctively he put himself in their place.
On the fifth floor Christophe and Olivier's next-door neighbor was the Abbe Corneille, a priest of some forty years old, a learned man, an independent thinker, broad-minded, formerly a professor of exegesis in a great seminary, who had recently been censured by Rome for his modernist tendency.
Christophe was standing behind him, and he stooped and reached over him and finished the broken melody: then he said: "Now I know the music of your soul." He held his hands, and stayed for a long time gazing into his face. At last he said: "How queer it is!... I have seen you before.... I know you so well, and I have known you so long!..." Olivier's lips trembled: he was on the point of speaking.
"Three hundred sixty-seven livres, eight sols, three deniers parisis. "Notre-Dame!" cried the king. "This is an outrageous cage!" He tore the book from Master Olivier's hands, and set to reckoning it himself upon his fingers, examining the paper and the cage alternately. Meanwhile, the prisoner could be heard sobbing.
Catherine, hearing of Olivier's suggestion, immediately proposed Birago, and put much warmth into her request. The cardinal, knowing nothing of the letter written by l'Hopital to the queen-mother, and supposing him faithful to the house of Lorraine, pressed his appointment in opposition to that of Birago, and Catherine allowed herself to seem vanquished.
He was reinforced by his brother, and at once drew his spoils out of the spruit and easily got away with them to the right bank of the Modder, where at noon he met the advanced guard of Olivier's force.
She heard Madelon, as La Martinière was leading her away, murmur in broken accents, "Her, too, have the terrible men deceived. Ah! wretched me! miserable Olivier!" The tones of the voice went to her heart, and again there dawned within her the belief in the existence of some mystery, in Olivier's innocence.
As she had entirely forgotten them during her year of love, it was as though she had made their acquaintance for the first time: just as part of her soul was merged in Olivier's, so part of Olivier's soul was merged in hers, and she saw her old friends with new eyes. They seemed to her to have gained much. Olivier did not lose by it at first. They were a set-off to each other.
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