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Updated: June 21, 2025
As he walked along the snow-covered streets, he muttered to himself: "Merciful God, do not punish me so hard!" When he returned he found the virago awaiting him at the door. "Monsieur," she said, "it seems that Zilda interests you." "Yes, like any other unhappy creature." "Well, I have her papers. Her name is Zild Jane Zild." "Give them to me," said Anselmo, firmly; "I will take care of her."
"Madame, for God's sake!" implored the young girl. "Show me to a room where I can lay the invalid down," said Anselmo roughly. "Yes, yes, directly. Follow me if you are in such a hurry," growled the woman. Just then two men who were intoxicated staggered into the hallway. "Ah, there is Zilda," cried one of them; "quick, old woman; come in and sing us a song."
There was no reason why she should not go to see the mishap. Truly there had been many a breakdown on this road before and Zilda had never stirred foot to examine them, but now she walked on steadily. Her fear told her that Gilby might find some means of getting on to the next station, some engine laden with supplies for the workmen from the other station might take him back with it.
When the carriage thus provided for him was close at hand, the almost breathless Zilda actually proposed to exert her strength to carry Gilby up to it. He insisted upon hopping on one foot supported by her arm; he did not feel the slightest inclination to lean upon her more than was needful, he was too self-conscious and proud.
Gilby was obliged to lie there for a month. Sometimes his friends came out from the town to see him, but not very often, and they did not stay long. Zilda cooked for him, Zilda waited upon him, Zilda conversed with him in the afternoons when he needed amusement. This month was the period of her happiness. When he was going home, Gilby felt really very grateful to the girl.
'Mon Dieu, but he is good! she would say to herself, which was simply the fact. All winter long Gilby came regularly. Zilda was happy in thinking of him when he was gone, happy in expecting him when he was coming, happy in making fun of him so that no one ever suspected her affection.
All that long winter, when the snow was deep in the fields, and the engines carried snow-ploughs, and the loungers about the station wore buffalo coats, Zilda was very happy. Gilby wore a dogskin cap and collar and cuffs; Zilda thought them very becoming. Then spring came, and Gilby wore an Inverness cape, which was the fashion in those days.
Zilda did not know from whence the voice came, but she knew from whom it came. It was Gilby's voice, and she stopped, her soul ravished by the music.
Zilda, the hotel-keeper's daughter, was accustomed to men who offered her light gallantry. It was because she did not like such men that she learned to love rather the better word might be, to adore little John Gilby.
There were other voices besides Gilby's to rail; there were other voices besides Zilda's to explain the disaster. In the midst of the babel Zilda slipped away to make muffins hastily for Gilby's breakfast.
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