Fromont and Risler -- Volume 1

NY-SUR

ross all the morning, and poor mamma dared not say a word, being afraid of those frowning eyebrows which have always laid down the law for her. I was thinking what a pity it was to be so entirely alone, in the middle of the s

nd is off again with my father in the morning before I am awake. And then he is a serious-minded man

reflections when suddenly dear

e friend Sidonie? I should be g

fault of the events of life rather than by our own! How many things we shall have to tell each other! You, who alone ha

ough all the paths, and suddenly I realize that I have taken all this trouble for the swans and ducks, my dog Kiss, and the cows, who do not even turn to look at me when I pass. Thereupon, in my wrath, I hurr

ther, both enthusiastic sportsmen, will come oftener. And then you will be here, you know. For you will reply at once that you

cts you. And I am dy

AI

s of August were warm and glorious-and went herself to drop it in the little

sleeping in the bright sunlight. Over yonder the reapers were gathering the last sheaves. Farther on they were ploughing. But all the mela

esentiment, to prevent her from sending that fatal letter. And immediately upon her return

teau it found its way to Paris, and arrived that same evening, with its Savigny postmark and

hebe's treasures, the clock under a glass globe and the Empire cups. To Sidonie it was like a wonderful romance filled with tales of enchantment

arranging her hair. Poor Frantz! How heavy his heart was made by these preparations! That visit to Savigny, which he had tried vainly to oppose, would cause a still further postponement of their wedding, which

oticed how quickly Desiree rose as soon as he entered, to make room for him by her side at th

. The mother and daughter were hemming pink flounces destined for Sidonie's

e was not Delobelle's

of retaining his illusions, of ho

the absent one; that she would have him there by her side, that they would sit up together waiting for "father," and that, perhaps, some eveni

nticipated with such impatience imparted. extraordinary activity to her needle, and the unhappy lover

finished, Mademoiselle C

the bank of that capriciously lovely stream, with its windmills, its

rred by time, wherein the flowers stood out vividly against the reddish stone. As far as the eye could see, the walls stretched away, decayed and crumbling, descending gradually toward the stream. The chateau overlooked them, with its

igny, to say nothing of the river, many springs, fountains, and ponds, in which the sun sank to rest in all his glory; and they formed

r palaces, which the parvenus in commerce and speculation have mad

cut down trees "for the view," filled his park with rough obstructions to keep out trespassers, and reserved all his solicitude for a magnificent k

ds overrun with water-lilies, the grottoes, the stone bridges, he cared for them only because of the admiration of visitor

aw stored in a magnificent circular granary, furnished him with matter for scolding for a whole day; and certain it is that, when one gazed from a distance at that lovely estate of Savigny, the chateau on the hillside, the river,

being greatly bored in Paris, lived at Savigny throughout

fferent to everything, and, in some sense, irresponsible. Having passed her life with no knowledge of business, she had become rich without knowing it and without the slightest desire to take advantage of it. Her fine apartments in Paris, her father's magnificent chateau, made her uncomfo

f both. Her fixed idea followed her to Savigny. She picked up dead branches in the paths, scratched the moss from the benches with the end of her umbrella, and would have liked to dust the leaves and sweep down the old trees; and often, when in the tra

sements, like all only children, she had become attached to certain walks, watched the flowers bloom, had her favorite path, her favorite tree, her favorite bench for reading. The dinner-bell always surprised her far away in the park. She would come to the t

estimate of what was being stolen from him each month, each week, every day, every minute; Madame Fromont might enumerate her grievances against the mice, the maggots, dust and dampness, all desperately bent upon destroying her property,

child she annoyed him with her great, honest eyes, her straightforwardness on all occasions, and

and an original, like her father,

n in those early days by a certain little smile at the corner of the mouth. Moreover, the child exhibited an ingenuous amazement and admiration in presence of his wealth, which flattered his parvenu pride; and sometimes, when he teased her, sh

le face, the whole effect emphasized by mannerisms suggestive of the shop-girl, she produced a decided sensation. Old Gardinois, wondering grea

a contempt for poses, and, more than all else, mental tranquillity. Her prettiness was not unlike her gowns, of inexpensive materials, but cut according to the style of the day-rags, if you will, but rags of which fashion, that ridiculous but charming f

nue, bordered with velvety grass and primeval elms, and at

ements of wealth! How perfectly that sort of life suited

wretched fate as the future wife of a government clerk, which transported her, whether she would or no, to the mean little apartment t

eak her betro

her pledge than her word. But when he had left he

ing-jackets and swanskin waistcoats, was jesting with her, amusing himself by contradicting her in order to draw out a sharp reply, she would gaze steadily, coldly into his eye

seldom seen at Savigny except on Sundays, adopte

o succeed him in business, and probably to become Claire's husband. That ready-made future did not arouse any enthusiasm in Georges. In the first place business bor

n effect-a totally different man, in short. She had just the spurious charm, a little free, which was calculated to

gate to meet the travellers, and Georges's first glance was always for Mademoiselle Chebe, who remained a little behind her friend, but with the poses and airs that go half

them. They were talking upon indifferent subjects, crunching the gravel beneath their idling footsteps, when Madame Fromont's voice, from the chateau, called Claire away. G

e acacias and lindens, detached by the breeze, whirled about in circles, perfuming the electricity-laden air. They felt themselves surrounded by an

idonie, embarrassed by the oppressive sil

eaned down, their hair and cheeks touching, they gazed at each other for a moment by the light of the glow-worms. How weird and fascinating she seemed to him in that green light, which shone upon h

sked Claire, suddenly coming

ges trembled so that he could not reply. Sidonie, on the other hand

any of them there are toni

rkled with extrao

I suppose," murmured Ge

They walked a few steps farther, then all three returned to the house. The young women took their work, Georges tried to read a

idonie! She had but one wish, to

n upon reality, what schemes, what transports of delight! Georges loved her, Georges Fromont, the heir of the factory! They would marry; she

rifling details, the expression of his eyes, the warmth of his embrace, the vows uttered brokenly, lips t

ow-worms o

them all along the lawns, on the trees, in the shrubbery. The fine gravel of the avenues, the waves of the river, seemed to emit green sparks, and all those mi

She had a suspicion that he did not, the clever minx! But that did not frighten her. She felt strong enough to triump

void of memory. He tried to speak to her, to renew the blissful m

wrote

. In the evening she must invent some story, a pretext of some sort for going to "The Phantom" alone. The shadow of the trees across the path, the mystery of the night, the rapid walk, the excitement, m

cters, those words of love which swam before her eyes, surrounded by dazzling bl

" wrote Georges in ev

elt that he was fairly caught, entirely in

love any one b

e woman already,