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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"The Count's Millions"

de Chalusse had been very fond
of, and the animal's caprices were respected by all the inmates of
the house.
"That's very strange," remarked Mademoiselle Marguerite, "for when
you rose to leave the room, half an hour ago, Mirza was sleeping
at your feet."
"What--really--is it possible?"
"It's certain."
But the worthy woman had already recovered her self-possession and
her accustomed loquacity at the same time. "Ah! my dear young
lady," she said, bravely, "I'm in such sorrow that I'm losing my
senses completely. Still, it was only from the kindest of motives
that I ventured into the garden, and I had scarcely entered it
before I saw something white run away from me--I felt sure it was
Mirza--and so I ran after it. But I could find nothing. I called
'Mirza! Mirza!' and still nothing. I searched under all the
trees, and yet I could not find her. It was as dark as pitch, and
suddenly a terrible fear seized hold of me--such a terrible fright
that I really believe I called for help, and I ran back to the
house half crazed."
Any one hearing her would have sworn that she was telling the
truth. But, unfortunately, her earlier manner had proved her
guilt.
Mademoiselle Marguerite was not deceived when she said to herself:
"I am on the track of some abominable act." However, she had
sufficient self-control to conceal her suspicions; and she
pretended to be perfectly satisfied with the explanation which the
house-keeper had concocted.


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