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Updated: June 22, 2025
It would turn out that she had come by rail, and had walked from the station. What a festival it was! In a simple woollen dress with a kerchief on her head, with a modest sunshade, but laced in, slender, in expensive foreign boots it was a talented actress playing the part of a little workgirl.
But now that you know the secret of my life," said the workgirl, casting down her eyes, and unable to vanquish her confusion, "it seems to me, that I can never look at you without blushing." "And why? because you love Agricola?" said Adrienne.
But, oh wonder! his furious and bloodshot gaze met the calm look of Adrienne a look so full of dignity and serene confidence and the expression of ferocious rage passed away like a flash of lightning. Let us explain physically this moral revolution, as consoling to the terrified workgirl, as provoking to the princess.
Amazed at the impudence of Rose-Pompon, Mdlle. de Cardoville remained mute; whilst Agricola, entirely occupied with the interest he took in the workgirl, who had never withdrawn her eyes from him since he entered the room, and with the remembrance of the painful scene he had just quitted, whispered to Adrienne, without remarking the grisette's effrontery, "Alas, lady! it is all over.
It was ten o'clock at night. The workgirl, returned to Cardoville House, had just entered her chamber. Worn out by so many emotions, she had thrown herself into a chair. The deepest silence reigned in the house. It was now and then interrupted by the soughing of a high wind, which raged without and shook the trees in the garden. A single candle lighted the room, which was papered with dark green.
At two o'clock every one in the warehouse was hard at work, except the old man, who still went on booming in his deep voice. To avoid standing idle, Laptev took some trimmings from a workgirl and let her go; then listened to a customer, a merchant from Vologda, and told a clerk to attend to him. "R. I. T.!" As he went away, Laptev said good-bye to no one but Fyodor.
In the front rank two young women were standing. One of them seemed to be greatly amused at the gratuitous entertainment, the other appeared preoccupied and depressed. "Come, Marie Pascal, don't be so absent-minded. You look as if you were at a funeral." The other, a workgirl, tried to smile and gave a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Rose, to be out of sorts, but I feel very upset."
The girl was dressed like a young lady, not like a workgirl. Kuzma Vassilyevitch stepped aside; his feeling of compassion overpowered his fear of doing something foolish and, when she caught him up, he politely touched the peak of his shako, and asked her the cause of her tears. "For," he added, and he laid his hand on his cutlass, "I, as an officer, may be able to help you."
But you can't think how difficult it is for one man to begin preaching to another. The natural thought is: Mind your own business. If I was the parson of the parish He paused, and in the same instant their eyes met. The suggestion was irresistible; Jane began to laugh merrily. What sweet laughter it was? How unlike the shrill discord whereby the ordinary workgirl expresses her foolish mirth!
But you replied to me with the touching words: 'I understand your refusal, my friend; it is not occasioned by false modesty, but by a sentiment of dignity that I love and respect. Who told you," continued the workgirl, with increasing animation, "that I should be so happy to find a little solitary retreat in this magnificent house, which dazzles me with its splendor?
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