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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"The Count's Millions"

de
Chalusse who were to hold the cords of the pall came forward.
There was a moment's confusion, then the hearse started, and the
whole cortege filed out of the courtyard.
Deep silence followed, so deep that the noise made in closing the
heavy gates came upon one with startling effect. "Ah!" moaned
Madame de Fondege, "it is over."
Marguerite's only reply was a despairing gesture. It would have
been impossible for her to articulate a syllable--her tears were
choking her. What would she not have given to be alone at this
moment--to have been able to abandon herself without constraint to
her emotions! Alas! prudence condemned her to play a part even
now. The thought of her future and her honor lent her strength to
submit to the deceitful consolations of a woman whom she knew to
be a dangerous enemy. And the General's wife was by no means
sparing of her consolatory phrases; in fact, it was only after a
long homily on the uncertainty of life below that she ventured to
approach the subject of her letter of the previous evening. "For
it is necessary to face the inevitable," she pursued. "The
troublesome realities of life have no respect for our grief. So
it is with you, my dear child; you would find a bitter pleasure in
giving vent to your sorrow, but you are compelled to think of your
future. As M. de Chalusse has no heirs, this house will be
closed--you can remain here no longer."
"I know it, madame.


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