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Updated: June 29, 2025
When at last my head touched the pillow, in a trice I was with Zephyrine, riding the boundless Sahara, cheek to cheek, the world well lost; while at times, through the sand-clouds that encircled us, glimmered the eyes of Coralie, touched, one fancied, with something of a tender reproach.
As he climbed the stairs, and thought of these friends, who refused to leave the path of honor, he felt conscious that he was less worthy of them than before. A voice spoke within him, telling him that if d'Arthez had loved Coralie, he would have had her break with Camusot.
He thought of the year when he loved Mme. de Bargeton with an exalted and disinterested love; and at that thought love, as a poet understands it, spread its white wings about him; countless memories drew a circle of distant blue horizon about the great man of Angouleme, and again he fell to dreaming. Up went the curtain, and there stood Coralie and Florine upon the stage.
I'll tell you another thing." He leaned forward, still holding her wrist tightly. "Look at Struboff," he said. "Look well at him." "I am giving myself the pleasure of looking at M. Struboff," said Coralie. "Very well. When you die because you'll grow old, and you'll grow ugly, and at last, after you have become very ugly, you'll die."
The Gymnase had advanced sums during Lucien's illness, she had no money to draw; Lucien, eager to work though he was, was not yet strong enough to write, and he helped besides to nurse Coralie and to relieve Berenice. From poverty they had come to utter distress; but in Bianchon they found a skilful and devoted doctor, who obtained credit for them of the druggist.
The Countess is still handsome." "What of that? So are you." "True, it doesn't matter much," Coralie admitted. "Does your Princess love you?" "Don't you love your husband?" A faint slow smile bent her lips as she glanced at Struboff himself and his locket. "Nobody acts without a motive," said I. "Not even in marrying."
Long live The Archer of Charles IX.! And I have converted a hundred francs worth of books into cash, children. We will go halves." He handed fifty francs to Coralie, and sent Berenice out in quest of a more substantial breakfast. "Hector Merlin and I went to a booksellers' trade dinner yesterday, and prepared the way for your romance with cunning insinuations.
I have squared the men in their pay; they will make a muddle of it. A couple of city men yonder have taken a hundred tickets apiece to secure a triumph for Florine and Coralie, and given them to acquaintances able and ready to act as chuckers out. The fellows, having been paid twice, will go quietly, and a scene of that sort always makes a good impression on the house." "Two hundred tickets!
"You can make a big fool of yourself," observed Coralie, breaking into a laugh and snatching her hands away from him. "Yes, yes, yes, I should hope so," he cried. "She catches the point! Is there hope? No, she won't make a fool of herself. There's no hope." He sank into a chair with every appearance of dejection. "I think it's supper-time," she said, moving toward the table.
"Why, that we should have for audience and as spectators of our little feast your subjects, sire, and, monsieur, your followers." Clearly Coralie had been maturing this rather startling speech for some time; she launched it with an evident enjoyment of its malice.
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