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Updated: June 14, 2025
At last one morning she found him up. He had already succeeded in opening one of the shutters, and was attempting to walk about without leaning on the furniture. 'Good gracious, we are active this morning! she exclaimed gleefully. 'Why, he will be jumping out of the window to-morrow if he has his own way So you are quite strong now, eh? Serge's answer was a childish laugh.
The silence seemed to be awful to the listeners, who were prepared to give the word for the ponies to dash away as soon as the approach they expected commenced. "Our people?" whispered Marcus at last, with his lips close to Serge's ear.
"Yah! Just like him!" cried Serge, angrily. "You ugly old idiot, you! Whether it's men or wolves, you always would have the last bite. Come away, stupid! Come here!" he roared again, quite oblivious of the fact that even if the distance had not prevented the dog from hearing, the noise of the horses' beating hoofs would have effectually drowned Serge's voice.
Once in a while he'd stop short and berate the chairs. Then little Serge's language was something awful. Whether these stories are true or not, the fact remains that Mr. Koussevitzky became a conductor and a great one one of the greatest.
Without waiting for an answer, the boy drew sharply back, ran to an open doorway, entered and made his way at once into Serge's room, a rough museum in its way of the odds and ends of one who acted as herdsman, gardener, and general odd man to the master of the little country Roman villa. "Why, I have just come in time!" "Oh, here you are, then," said Serge, ignoring the boy's question.
The admission to the Grand Cercle gave Serge a powerful element of interest in life: He had to manoeuvre to obtain his liberty. His first evenings spent from home troubled Micheline deeply. The young wife was jealous when she saw her husband going out. She feared a rival, and trembled for her love. Serge's mysterious conduct caused her intolerable torture.
Albine still sat upon the side of the bed, and the pair of them, an arm round each other's neck, watched the slow paling of the sky. At times a mighty thrill seemed to make it blanch. Serge's languid eyes now wandered over it more freely and detected in it exquisite tints of which he had never dreamed.
Serge changed places with him directly, while the driver assumed the reins, the slight touch upon the ponies' withers making them snort and plunge as much as Serge's strong arms at their bits would allow. Then a trumpet rang out, Serge joined his young master in the chariot, and in a few minutes the ponies had settled down into a steady progress at the rear of the column.
Marcus felt quite willing now that the excitement caused by the flying foe was at an end, and, soon after, Serge's little store was drawn upon, and, quite happy and contented, the two old companions made what Marcus thought was the most appetising breakfast he had ever had in his life. "Hah!" cried Serge, as they rose at last. "Now let's go down to the stream for a drink.
Serge's jaw dropped. "Not going too, master?" cried Serge, as soon as he could recover himself from a verbal blow which had, for the moment, seemed to crush him down; and, as Marcus heard the hopeless despair in the poor fellow's tones, the feeling of malicious triumph in his breast died away. "No," said Cracis, firmly; "your duty lies here." "Lies here, master?" stammered Serge. "Yes, man, here.
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