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Updated: June 23, 2025
I rejoiced as our little party entered, on July 16th, the quaint village of Konnersreuth. Therese's little cottage, clean and neat, with geraniums blooming by a primitive well, was alas! silently closed. The neighbors, and even the village postman who passed by, could give us no information. Rain began to fall; my companions suggested that we leave.
It was still raining fast, and the mules passing close by me, I placed my hand mechanically upon the neck of one of them, and following the slow pace of the animals I re-entered Rimini without the slightest notice being taken of me, even by the drivers of the mules. I gave some money to the first street urchin I met, and he took me to Therese's house.
This was the state of affairs at the time I moved into my new lodgings, before referred to, in the Place Maubert, and I was suffering these mental torments for Thérèse's sake, when the appearance, or rather the non-appearance, of my mysterious neighbor aggravated and complicated the symptoms and converted my slow fever into an intermittent.
Her aunt, the Countess Dietrichstein, explained that from Therese's childhood, she never had been able to overcome her terror of lightning; and certainly, if this were so, she had every reason for terror now.
Everything was asleep, and only the crackling of the logs and the light rattle of Therese's pearls could be heard. Turning from the mirror, she lifted the corner of a curtain and saw through the window, beyond the dark trees of the quay, the Seine spreading its yellow reflections. Weariness of the sky and of the water was reflected in her fine gray eyes.
As to the others, they did nothing but look first at me and then at him, and if they came to the conclusion that he was my son they would be obliged to suppose that I had been the lover of Therese's mother, if she were really his sister, for taking into consideration the age she looked and gave herself out to be she could not possibly be his mother.
That was, as she said, something to thank God for. She was also a beautiful spiritual influence on him. Once the Baron Spaun found Beethoven kissing Thérèse's portrait and muttering: "Thou wast too noble too like an angel." The baron withdrew silently, and returning later found Beethoven extemporising in heavenly mood. He explained: "My good angel has appeared to me."
He deserves your sympathy, this elegant Cardinal-Prince, who had been the victim of the malice and schemings of the relentless Austrian Empress since the days when he represented the King of France at the Court of Vienna. The state he had kept there had been more than royal and royal in the dazzling French manner, which was perturbing to a woman of Marie Therese's solid German notions.
There was a misty drizzle of rain which cooled his burning face, the air was mild enough, but saturated with moisture. The leaves of the trees glistened with heavy drops. Along the balcony to the right showed the light from Thérèse's room in a bar across the wet stone.
"Thérèse's room was a long way off," M. Rambert replied, "while there was only a thin wall between yours and that of the Marquise. You must have heard: you did hear! More than that , oh, my boy, my unhappy boy!" Charles was twisting and untwisting his hands, and great drops of cold perspiration beaded his brow.
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