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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"The Widow Lerouge"

Never in my life have I seen so sad a spectacle,
nor shall I forget it, if I live for a thousand years. In less than five
minutes his face changed to such an extent that his own valet would not
have recognized him. He held his handkerchief in his hand, with which
from time to time he mechanically wiped his lips. He grew paler and
paler, and his lips became as white as his handkerchief. Large drops of
sweat stood upon his forehead, and his eyes became dull and clouded, as
if a film had covered them; but not an exclamation, not a sigh, not a
groan, not even a gesture, escaped him. At one moment, I felt such pity
for him that I was almost on the point of snatching the letters from his
hands, throwing them into the fire and taking him in my arms, crying,
'No, you are my brother! Forget all; let us remain as we are and love
one another!'"
M. Tabaret took Noel's hand, and pressed it. "Ah!" he said, "I recognise
my generous boy."
"If I have not done this, my friend, it is because I thought to myself,
'Once these letters destroyed, would he recognise me as his brother?'"
"Ah! very true."
"In about half an hour, he had finished reading; he arose, and facing me
directly, said, 'You are right, sir.


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