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Updated: May 13, 2025
Henri uttered a hoarse cry, struck his spurs into the sides of his mare, crossed the brook breathlessly, stopping on the other side as soon as he could control his horse's pace; then, rushing back, he leaped to the ground to save the poor girl, if there was still time to do so. Zibeline lay inanimate on the grass, her face lying against the earth.
"Only, in the opinion of the founders of the Orphan Asylum, it should be situated in the city of Paris itself." "The donor thought that open fields and fresh air would be better for the children." "Land outside of Paris costs very much less, of course; that is probably the real reason," said M. Desvanneaux. "Poor Zibeline! you are well hated!" Madame de Nointel could not help saying.
As he was not so curious as the Desvanneaux, it mattered little to him to what place they took him, so long as he should find Zibeline at the end of the journey. At the appointed hour the brother and sister drove to the Gare du Nord. The Duke, a director of the road, who had been obliged to attend a convocation of the Council until noon, had preceded them.
Several workmen, in white blouses, went along the track, placing litters beside the obstacles where falls occurred most frequently. "Do you think the gatekeeper will allow us to enter at this hour?" Zibeline asked. "I hope not!" Henri replied. "Well, then, I shall enter without his permission! You are free to declare me the winner. I shall be left to make a walkover, I see!"
While the General placed Zibeline on the litter, the groom took Aida by the bridle, and the sad procession made its way slowly toward the enclosure surrounding the weighing-stand. As for Seaman, half submerged in the stream, and with an incurable fracture of the leg, nothing was left to do for the poor animal but to kill him.
A crackling of dry twigs under a light tread made him turn, and he beheld Zibeline, who had come up behind him. The fairy was there, pale and trembling, like a criminal awaiting arrest. "Is it you who have done this?" Henri exclaimed, with a sob which no human strength could have controlled. "It is I!" she murmured, lowering her eyes.
He pointed to a passing fiacre, at the same time hailing the driver. "Don't call him. I will take you home myself," said Zibeline, as if such a suggestion were the most natural thing in the world. "You know that in France it is not the custom," said the General. "What! Do you bother yourself with such things at your age?" "If my age seems to you a sufficient guaranty, that is different.
He led her before the portrait of the ancestral marshal of France, and said: "Twenty-three years ago I vowed before that portrait either to vanquish the enemy or to regain with honor all that I had lost at play. I have kept my word. Will you be my wife?" "Ah, you know my heart is yours!" Zibeline whispered, hiding her face upon his shoulder.
The sweetness of a tete-a-tete might diminish the bitterness of recollections. He accepted. She ordered the cart brought around, and they climbed into the small vehicle, which was drawn by a strong pony, driven by Zibeline herself. "Which way?" she asked, when they had passed through the gates.
Having examined the document carefully, to assure herself that all statements contained therein were according to her intentions, Zibeline took her pen and wrote at the foot of the page: "Read and approved," and signed the paper. "Mademoiselle appears to be well accustomed to business habits," observed M. Durand, with a smile.
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