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Updated: June 19, 2025
And I think she is right. Lampron smiled. "Yes, I am quite happy, Sylvestre, and I owe my happiness to you, to her, and to others. I have done nothing myself to deserve happiness beyond letting myself drift on the current of life. Whenever I tried to row a stroke the boat nearly upset. Everything that others tried to do for me succeeded. I can't get over it. Just think of it yourself.
I had hardly been a month in Paris when my brother Francis, with whom I had parted in 1752, arrived from Dresden with Madame Sylvestre. He had been at Dresden for four years, taken up with the pursuit of his art, having copied all the battle pieces in the Elector's Galley.
Lampron went straight to his works. I should have awarded them the medaille d'honneur; an etching of a man's head, a large engraving of the Virgin and Infant Jesus from the Salon Carre at the Louvre, and the drawing which represents "Great Heavens! Sylvestre, she's perfectly lovely; she will make a great mistake if she does not come and see herself!"
"My full-grown baby, I will tell you. You are in love with her!" "Indeed, Sylvestre, I believe you're right. I confess it frankly to you as to my best friend. It is an old story already; as old, perhaps, as the day I first met her. At first her figure would rise in my imagination, and I took pleasure in contemplating it. Soon this phantom ceased to satisfy; I longed to see her in person.
If you could have seen her!" "And you?" "Me? She is nothing to me." "Are you sure?" He put the question gravely, without looking in my face, as he twisted a paper spill. I laughed. "What is the matter with you to-day, misanthrope? I assure you that she is absolutely indifferent to me. But even were it otherwise, Sylvestre, where would be the wrong?" "Wrong?
Lampron saw him to the street, and I heard their steps grow distant in the passage. A moment later Sylvestre returned and held out both hands to me, saying: "Well, are you happy now?" "Of course I am, to a certain extent." "'To a certain extent'! Why, she loves you." "But the obstacles, Sylvestre!" "Nonsense!" "Perhaps insurmountable those were his words."
When the letters were got through, Sylvestre timidly showed his to his big friend, to try and make him admire the writing of it. "Look, is it not pretty writing, Yann?" But Yann, who knew very well whose hand had traced it, turned aside, shrugging his shoulders, as much as to say that he was worried too often about this Gaud girl.
We came to the first room of paintings. Sylvestre beamed like a man who feels at home. "Quick, Sylvestre, where is the sketch? Let's hurry to it." But he dragged me with him around several rooms. Have you ever experienced the intoxication of color which seizes the uninitiated at the door of a picture-gallery?
"I wish I could oblige you, Monsieur Lampron; but if I made you a promise, I should not be able to keep it." "What a pity! All was so well arranged, too. The sketch was to have been hung with my two engravings. Poor Fabien! I was saving up a surprise for you. Come and look here." I went across. Sylvestre opened his portfolio. "Do you recognize it?" At once I recognized them.
"The stars," replied Sylvestre Ker. "At midnight Mars and Saturn will arrive in diametrical opposition; Venus will seek Vesta; Mercury will disappear in the sun; and the planet without a name, that the deceased Thaël divined by calculation, I saw last night, steering its unknown route through space to come in conjunction with Jupiter. Ah! if I only dared disobey my dear mother."
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