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Updated: June 8, 2025
I had judged her rightly! Her voice and her words were those of a mother. She had taken care to bring her physician. The patient is lying in a comfortable bed, surrounded by loving and attentive friends. I feel more easy, although she has just awakened with a fearful delirium. Madame de Pontbrian has positively refused to come to her niece. I had judged her rightly too, the excellent Christian!
Those are both claims to consideration which I admit fully, so far as I am concerned. Every solid principle and every sincere sentiment command in these days a peculiar respect. Unfortunately Madame de Pontbrian seems to be one of those intensely devout persons who are but very indifferent Christians.
Madame de Palme is twenty-five years of age; she is a widow; she spends the winter in Paris with her sister, and the summer in an old Norman manor-house, with her aunt, Madame de Pontbrian. Let me get rid of the aunt first. This aunt, who is of very ancient nobility, is particularly noted for the fervor of her hereditary opinions, and for her strict devotion.
In the name of the God of mercy, I beseech you, I implore you come to console, come to bless her who can no longer expect words of kindness and forgiveness from any one but you in this world. "Pray tell Madame de Pontbrian whatever you think proper." She was calling me. I returned to her side. I found her still seated before the fire.
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