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Updated: July 20, 2025
Thus he lived near them, shared between them, uneasy, troubled, feeling for the mother his old ardor awakened, and for the daughter an indefinable tenderness. "Paris, July 20, 11 P. M. "MY FRIEND: My mother has just died at Roncieres. We shall leave here at midnight. Do not come, for we have told no one. But pity me and think of me. "July 21, 12 M.
You are not yet aware of what you feel, but by and by you will no longer be able to deceive yourself regarding it." "Any, I assure you that you are mad." "Do you wish proofs?" "Yes." "You had not come to Roncieres for three years, in spite of my desire to have you come. But you rushed down there when it was proposed that you should come to fetch us." "Oh, indeed!
However, those two days at Roncieres remained in his soul like a source of heat, of happiness, of intoxication; and the least details of those days returned to him, one by one, with precision, sweeter even than at the time they occurred.
And I thought of your heart, your poor heart that poor heart, of which half belongs to me and which is breaking, which suffers so much, which stifles you, making me suffer also at this moment. "With profound pity, I kiss your eyes filled with tears. "Roncieres, July 24.
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