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Updated: June 19, 2025
"'After three months of desperation rather than despair, the idea of devoting myself to Honorine with God only in my secret, was one of those poems which occur only to the heart of a lover through life and death! Love must have its daily food.
The story is mainly an account of these efforts." "Does he succeed?" "Yes. Honorine goes back to her husband, but it cost her her life. She cannot live with a man she doesn't love. That is the point of the story." "I wonder why that should remind you of me?" "There is something delicate, rare, and mystical about you both. But I can't say I place Honorine very high among Balzac's works.
When, on her recovery, she asked how and by whom she had been assisted, she was told "By the Sisters of Charity in the neighborhood by the Maternity Society by the parish priest, who took an interest in her." "'This woman, whose pride amounts to a vice, has shown a power of resistance in misfortune, which on some evenings I call the obstinacy of a mule. Honorine was bent on earning her living.
A look would have spoilt all, and I never allowed a thought of her to be seen in my eyes. Honorine chose to regard me as an old friend. Her manner to me was the outcome of a kind of pity. Her looks, her voice, her words, all showed that she was a hundred miles away from the coquettish airs which the strictest virtue might have allowed under such circumstances.
Merely by lifting her delicate eyelids, Honorine could cast a spell; there was so much feeling, dignity, terror, or contempt in her way of raising or dropping those veils of the soul. She could freeze or give life by a look. Her light-brown hair, carelessly knotted on her head, outlined a poet's brow, high, powerful, and dreamy. The mouth was wholly voluptuous.
Do not have him about! Chase him out of the yard! Chase him as soon as he makes his appearance! Do you hear, Honorine?" "You must have a little patience, husband." It was perhaps the only reproach one could make to Madame Honorine, that she never learned by experience. "Patience! Patience! Patience is the invention of dullards and sluggards.
M. de Lourtier-Vaneau was a man still in the prime of life, wearing a slightly grizzled beard and, by his affable manners and genuine distinction, commanding confidence and liking. "M. de Lourtier," said Renine, "I have ventured to call on your excellency because I read in last year's newspapers that you used to know one of the victims of the lady with the hatchet, Honorine Vernisset."
I saw at last the woman whom her own conduct and her husband's confidences had made me so curious to meet. It was in the early days of May. The air was pure, the weather serene; the verdure of the first foliage, the fragrance of spring formed a setting for this creature of sorrow. As I then saw Honorine I understood Octave's passion and the truthfulness of his description, 'A heavenly flower!
Honorine has never told Madame Gobain who she is; she keeps absolute silence as to her marriage, so that the worthy and respectable woman can never speak a word in my favor, for she is the only person in the house who knows my secret. The others know nothing; they live under the awe caused by the name of the Prefect of Police, and their respect for the power of a Minister.
"Does Madame know that the fils Poupard is leaving by the four o'clock train -and that Cranger and Veron are going too?" asked my faithful Catherine. "No." "Yes, Madame and Honorine is in the wash-house crying as though her heart would break." I turned on my heel and walked toward the river.
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