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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"The Widow Lerouge"

At
the ball you looked as though you were burying the devil. At the supper
table your friends were as melancholy as a pair of owls. I obeyed your
orders by affecting hardly to know you. You imbibed like a sponge,
without my being able to tell whether you were drunk or not."
"That proves," interrupted Noel, "that we ought not to force our tastes.
Let us talk of something else."
He took a few steps in the room, then looking at his watch said: "Almost
one o'clock; my love, I must leave you."
"What! you are not going to remain?"
"No, to my great regret; my mother is dangerously ill."
He unfolded and counted out on the table the bank notes he had received
from old Tabaret.
"My little Juliette," said he, "here are not eight thousand francs, but
ten thousand. You will not see me again for a few days."
"Are you leaving Paris, then?"
"No; but my entire time will be absorbed by an affair of immense
importance to myself. If I succeed in my undertaking, my dear, our
future happiness is assured, and you will then see whether I love you!"
"Oh, my dear Noel, tell me what it is."
"I cannot now."
"Tell me I beseech you," pleaded the young woman, hanging round his
neck, raising herself upon the tips of her toes to press her lips to
his.


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