Fromont and Risler -- Volume 3

If Monsieur le Commissaire could see her now, he would not doubt her word. Doubtless the wish, the longing for death, so unmistakably written on her pale face the other mornin

. Is it her love, then, that is killing her? No. Since that terrible night she no longer thinks of Frantz, she no longer feels that she is worthy

m time to time she raises her eyes to contemplate that mute despair, that mysterious disease, then hastily

nd she would not for anything in the world have interfered with one of "the father's" cherished habits. And so, at whatever hour the inva

r would look up at her child,

o you

wful face and showed all the ravages that had been wrought upon it, as a sunbeam, stealing into a

e doctor had told him so. Moreover, it had been a terrible blow to him, for, at heart, he loved his child dearly; but in that singular nature the most sincere and the most genuine

e actors' restaurant, with red eyes and pale cheeks. He loved to invite the question, "Well, my poor old fellow, how are things going at home?" Thereupon he would shake his head with a nervous gesture; his grimace held tears in check, his mouth im

very near being opened to the truth at last. A hot little hand laid upon that pompous, illusion-ridden

attempting to explain this unhoped-for resurrection, he had gone away, saying, "Let us wait and see"; he relied upon the power of youth to throw off disease, upon the resistless force of the life-giving sap, which often engrafts a new life upon the very

ately worded excuses likely to pour balm into her wounds, would have been less satisfactorily expressed. Frantz repented, asked forgiveness, and wi

earlier. Now, all those kind words were to Desiree like the da

s we said a moment since,

and memories. The most distant periods of her past seemed to approach her. The most trivial incidents o

ess attitude of long- continued fatigue, heeded at last; and all the scars, the ugly sabre cuts with which age and suffering brand the faces of the old, manifested themselves, ineffaceable

favorite attitudes. Seated before the little white cloth that bore his supper, with his body at an angle of sixty-seven and a

dle, placid, thoughtless father. At a glance she realized the difference between the two lives. What would become of them when she was no longer there? Either her mother would work too hard and would kill herself; or else the poor woman woul

go very soon-before going away, she should tear away the thick b

d loving as hers could

he right to sa

iving. Give

Desire Delobelle summoned all

pa-

side. He entered Desiree's bedroom, radiant and superb, very

, Zizi. Aren'

nge effect amid the prevailing gloom. Desiree motioned

mp-I have somethi

her eyes, for they seemed larger than usual, and were li

d with somet

tter, Bichette? Do

im very close, very close. When the great man stood by her pillow, she laid her burning hand on the great man's

g must come, yes, that it was very near. But I want to tell you this. When I am gone, I am terribl

eatly surprised to find that she did really look so b

r was ver

red Desiree and strengthened her determination. Sh

lts you have waited for so long may not arrive for a long time to come; and until then what will you do? Listen! my dear father, I would not willingly hu

pauses between every two sentences, hoping always that they might be filled b

pursued Desiree, timidly, "I think

t?-what'

violent despair; and tears, genuine tears which he did not even think of concealing behind his hand as they do on the stag

red twice

up-to g

llow, and she died without having dared to