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Updated: May 10, 2025
Jacqueline, who had always been weak in her dealings with her son, could not hold him in check. She herself was passing through a strange crisis, and was too much occupied with herself to pay much heed to him. Since the unhappy adventure which had destroyed Olivier's marriage and life, Jacqueline had lived a very worthy life.
As he spoke thus, Master Olivier's haughty face quitted its arrogant expression for a lowly one. It is the only change which ever takes place in a courtier's visage. The king looked him well in the face and said in a dry tone, "I understand." He resumed,
It said that in concealing the disaster from him the day before, and hurrying him off, they had only been obeying Olivier's wishes, who had desired to insure his friend's escape, that it was useless for Christophe to stay, as it would mean the end of him also, that it was his duty to seek safety for the sake of his friend's memory, and for his other friends, and for the sake of his own fame, etc., etc.... Amelie had added three lines in her big, scrawling handwriting, to say that she would take every care of the poor little gentleman....
Already the smile had died away from their lips. Olivier's face was no longer mocking, but it was dark and stern. "There is a small open space behind the horse lines," said he. "We have held a few affairs of honour there and it has done very well. We shall be there, Captain Gerard, at the hour you name."
She liked saying nothing and preferred listening to talking: but the image of the old times had been kept alive and clear in her silent heart: in glimmers they would appear sharply before her like shining pebbles in a stream. There was one such memory that Christophe more than once saw reflected in her eyes as she looked at him with affectionate compassion: but Olivier's name was not pronounced.
Tell me how Madelon is faring." Mademoiselle Scuderi summoned La Martinière, and in a few minutes Madelon was clinging to Olivier's neck. "Now that you are here, all is well. I knew that this noble-hearted lady would save you," Madelon cried over and over; and Olivier forgot his fate, and all that threatened him. He was free and happy.
This audacious statement wrung a sigh of relief from the Baron; he took Madame Olivier's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, my good Madame Olivier. But that is not all. Monsieur Crevel?" "Monsieur Crevel? What can you mean, sir? I do not understand," said Madame Olivier. "Listen to me. He is Madame Marneffe's lover " "Impossible, Monsieur le Baron; impossible," said she, clasping her hands.
There are no worse invalids than the men who have always had too much health." And now Olivier's words had come true. After the death of his friend the source of his inward life had not all at once dried up: but it had become strangely intermittent: it flowed in sudden gushes, then stopped, then disappeared under the earth. Christophe had paid no heed to it: what did it matter to him?
Christophe went home discomfited. All the way home he tried to explain this sudden change of front: and the truth began dimly to dawn on him. When he reached his rooms he found Olivier waiting for him, and then, with a would-be indifferent air, Olivier asked him about the party. Christophe told him of his discomfiture, and he saw Olivier's face brighten as he went on. "Still tired?" he asked.
Here in the little valley there was hardly any sun; but Olivier's dreams flowered all the better for it. What stories he wove for his own delight in those days, stories sad and tender and fantastic! They came he knew not whence, sailing like white clouds in a summer sky, melted into thin air, and others followed them: he was full of them.
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