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Updated: June 28, 2025
My dear friend, if it's painful to you, don't make it." "Fabien," my uncle went on, "has behaved badly to me on certain occasions. But I say no more of it. His faults are forgotten. But I have not behaved to him altogether as I should." "You, uncle?" "Alas! It is so, my dear child. My practice, the family practice, which I faithfully promised your father to keep for you " "You have sold it?"
Then he changed the subject brusquely: "What about your love-affair?" "Fresher than ever." "Did it survive half an hour's conversation?" "It grew the stronger for it." "Does she still detest you?" I told him the story of our trip to Desio, and our conversation in the carriage, without omitting a detail. He listened in silence. At the end he said: "My dear Fabien, there must be no delay.
You forbade Monsieur Fabien to love me, and I took no steps to prevent his doing so. Even yesterday, when he came to your house, it was my doing. I had assured him that your kind heart would not be proof against his loving confession. "Was I really wrong in that? "The words that you spoke just now have led me to hope that I was not. "But if I was wrong, visit your anger on me alone.
When I had recovered from my surprise, I said: "I expected you sooner, from your letter." "Your suppositions were correct. I have been two days here, at the Grand Hotel. "I should have gone to see you there, uncle, if I had known it." "You would not have found me. Business before pleasure, Fabien. I had to see three barristers and five solicitors. You know that business of that kind can not wait.
Poor child! Forget all this, Monsieur Fabien; you can do nothing to help. Be true to your youth, and tell us next time of Monsieur Charnot and Mademoiselle Jeanne." Dear Madame Lampron! I tried to console her; but as I never knew my mother, I could find but little to say. All the same, she thanked me and assured me I had done her good. January 1, 1885. The first of January!
"Yes," murmured Fabien gravely, but two large tears welled up in his plaintive eyes as the faint glimmer of hope he had encouraged as to the possibility of his being miraculously cured by the touch of a saintly Cardinal, expired in the lonely darkness of his little afflicted soul.
"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.
Leaning against the Cardinal's chair, his eyes fixed on the crippled Fabien, he had the aspect of a young Angel of compassion, whose sole immortal desire was to lift the burden of sorrow and pain from the lives of suffering humanity. And after a minute or two passed in silent meditation, the Cardinal laid his hands tenderly on Fabien's fair curly head and prayed aloud. "Oh merciful Christ!
Fabien, you will leave Paris with me to-morrow. That's understood." "Certainly not, uncle." "Your reasons?" "Because I can not leave my friends without saying goodby, and because I have need to reflect before definitely binding myself to the legal profession." "To reflect!
She often made Fabien a third with Arthur in her opera-box and at first representations; this she excused by saying he had done her such or such a service and she did not know how else to repay him. Men have a natural conceit as common to them as to women, that of being loved exclusively.
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