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Updated: June 29, 2025
De Launay twisted the unfortunate hat in his hands and made no reply for some minutes. Solange sat on the bed, one knee crossed over the other and her chin resting in her hand, supported on her elbow. Her head was also bent toward the floor. "Mademoiselle," said De Launay, at last, "I think you have guessed the trouble with me."
It is a kind of phalanstery which amuses us, and where mutual liberty is much better guaranteed than in that of the Fourierists... Solange is at a boarding-school, and comes out every Saturday to Monday morning. Maurice has resumed the studio con furia, and I, I have resumed Consuelo like a dog that is being whipped; for I have idled on account of my removal and the fitting up of my apartments...
Probably don't like this talk of killin'. They say he beefed Panamint Charlie, his partner, some years ago and I reckon he's a mite sensitive that a way." "He doesn't seem to know where the mine is," said Solange. "Nor do you, mademoiselle?" "Me?" said Marian, airily. "If I knew where that mine was, believe me, you'd be late looking for it. I'd have been settled on it long ago."
De Launay expressed himself as quite willing to look after most of the details of the affair, and Solange, although capable, being more or less ignorant, was willing to leave them to him, although with some misgiving. The sight of that stack of saucers in the café of the Pink Kitten remained to haunt her with distaste for the whole adventure.
I entered with some trepidation, as well I might, considering how I had got there; but the simplicity of Madame Sand's manner put me at ease in a moment. She named some of those present; amongst them were her son and daughter, the Maurice and Solange so familiar to us from her books, and Chopin with his wonderful eyes. There was at that time nothing astonishing in Madame Sand's appearance.
"That sounds as though it might be the wise thing to do," said Wilding. Solange turned to him. "That is true. I thank Monsieur Sucatash. And, Monsieur Wilding, there is one thing you can do for me, besides the arrangements for that divorce. Can you not search the records to find out what is known of my father's death and who killed him?" "But it appears that the killer was Louisiana."
When so many more attractive sites were to be found, it seems strange that he should have chosen this sandy flat upon the border of what was then the sad and barren Solange.
Solange smiled and her smile, even with veiled face, was something to put these bashful range riders at their ease. Both of them felt warmed to their hearts. "I am very glad to see you," she said. "It is true that I require help, and I shall be glad of yours. It is kind of you to enter my employ."
When the novelty wore off the stronger of the two the one least in love took the initial step. It was George Sand who took it with Chopin. He would never have had the courage nor the will. The final causes are not very interesting. Niecks has sifted all the evidence before the court and jury of scandal-mongers. The main quarrel was about the marriage of Solange Sand with Clesinger the sculptor.
"Well, I can't say as to that," said Doolittle, smiling as he thought of De Launay's oil wells. "He might accept pay. But he is as likely to take it on for the chance of adventure. In any event, I imagine that you are prepared to employ assistance from time to time." "That is what the money is for," said Solange candidly. "I have even considered at times employing an assassin.
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