"Oh! is it you? How kind of you to come to see us! Nobody has called for
five days past. Oh! we don't complain of it. We are so happy alone
together! Since Irma married a clerk she has treated us with disdain.
Euphrasie can no longer come down her stairs. Victor and his wife live so
far away. And as for that rascal Alfred, he only comes up here to see if
he can find something to steal. Mamma called five days ago to tell us
that papa had narrowly escaped being killed at the works on the previous
day. Poor mamma! she is so worn out that before long she won't be able to
take a step."
While the sisters thus rattled on both together, one beginning a sentence
and the other finishing it, Mathieu looked at Norine, who, thanks to that
peaceful and regular life, had regained in her thirty-sixth year a
freshness of complexion that suggested a superb, mature fruit gilded by
the sun. And even the slender Cecile had acquired strength, the strength
which love's energy can impart even to a childish form.
All at once, however, she raised a loud exclamation of horror: "Oh! he
has hurt himself, the poor little fellow." And at once she snatched the
scissors from the child, who sat there laughing with a drop of blood at
the tip of one of his fingers.
Pages:
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475