14th-dunki | dusk-mean | meant-sketc | skirt-zigza
bold = Main text
Chapter grey = Comment text
1 III| expressions.~ ~One Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never
2 I | died~in the beginning of 1809, leaving her with two young
3 III| Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never forgot the date),
4 III| often referred. Thus, in 1825, workmen painted the vestibule;
5 III| painted the vestibule; in~1827, a portion of the roof almost
6 III| the~yard. In the summer of 1828, it was Madame's turn to
7 IV | during the terrible winter of 1837, when she had put him~in
8 IV | her very much. In March, 1853, she~developed a pain in
9 I | which barely~amounted to 5,000 francs; then she left her
10 III| committed frightful misdeeds in '93. He lived near the~river
11 III| said: "They tell you of a--misfortune. Your~nephew--"~ ~
12 IV | he displayed such a high ability that an inspector~had offered
13 | above
14 III| prepared for himself during her absence.~ ~After the Polish refugees,
15 IV | the order of things, and absolutely monstrous and~inadmissible.
16 III| any profession as he was absorbed in drinking. His~mother
17 IV | he could not hold back,~accelerated their pace; the two leaders
18 III| clothes to mend, and she accepted the task gladly,~because
19 II | beginning from Christmas, she accompanied the little girl to her~catechism
20 II | they~persuaded her to accompany them to the fair at Colleville.
21 III| Aubain wished to make an accomplished girl of her daughter; and~
22 | according
23 IV | Madame Aubain looked over her accounts and soon~discovered his
24 IV | killed him!"~ ~What did such accusations mean? Suspect a man like
25 III| would~have saved her. She accused herself, prayed to be able
26 III| mysteriously; and~the old acquaintances, Guyot, Liebard, Madame
27 II | the change~of air and the action of the sea-baths. She took
28 IV | surrounded her when the dominie administered the~Extreme Unction. Afterwards
29 IV | applied for a position~in the administration of woods and forests, he
30 IV | which only a chosen few were admitted, looked like a~chapel and
31 IV | candlesticks and~mats so as to adorn the temporary altars in
32 III| altar.~ ~She worried in advance over Virginia's first communion.
33 III| again, and they made no advances, either from forgetfulness~
34 IV | stuffed?"~ ~She asked the advice of the chemist, who had
35 IV | community, the cure thought it~advisable to receive her confession
36 II | other woman, she had had an affair of the heart. Her~father,
37 IV | Dozule."~ ~These base actions affected her very much. In March,
38 III| thought that Virginia was affectionate but delicate. The~slightest
39 IV | those chickens are~sometimes afflicted with. Felicite pulled it
40 II | other bathers.~ ~In the afternoon, they would take the donkey
41 II | Paul and Virginia, the one aged seven, and the other~barely
42 III| worshippers struck up the Agnes Dei; the boys' procession~
43 I | latter was~by no means an agreeable person.~ ~Madame Aubain
44 IV | of Pont-l'Eveque, put on airs,~and hurt Felicite's feelings.
45 III| threshold, she would walk up the~aisle between the double lines
46 V | violets,~earrings set with Alencon stones were displayed on
47 III| consoled.~ ~Years passed, all alike and marked by no other events
48 II | goods, who lived under~the alley-way, spread out his wares on
49 III| forget her!" This was an allusion to the~cemetery where she
50 III| a great respect for the Almighty and a great fear of His
51 II | harbour. Then they crept up~alongside of the dock and the sailors
52 III| Child Jesus, and behind the alter, a wooden group represented~
53 II | pastures and tilled fields~alternated. At the edge of the road,
54 | am
55 I | the income of which barely~amounted to 5,000 francs; then she
56 II | glided over the~waves and anchored in the middle of the harbour.
57 II | owners, the farm had an ancient appearance. The beams of
58 IV | room, light on one of~the andirons, and hop around in order
59 III| when~she returned from the Angelus she found him in the kitchen
60 III| entire ceremony, she felt anguished. Monsieur Bourais hid~part
61 II | between two bars and the~huge animal, thwarted, paused.~ ~For
62 III| thenceforth loved her with animal-like~devotion and a religious
63 II | well-to-do families are--for the animals had~instructed her;--but
64 III| and surely a~delay would annoy Madame, so, in spite of
65 II | exploited her. Her~foolishness annoyed Madame Aubain, who, moreover
66 IV | familiar with it and gently answered:--"Ah! like~Madame," thinking
67 III| She never mentioned her anxieties,~however.~ ~Madame Aubain
68 II | she lived in a constant anxiety that was caused by "the
69 II | he, himself, was not so anxious and preferred to wait for
70 III| captured in a forest by apes,~or dying on some lonely
71 III| cabin-boy rested on the railing, apparently indifferent to his~surroundings.
72 II | spite of his efforts to appear a man of breeding (he even
73 IV | Honfleur herself.~ ~Leafless apple-trees lined the edges of the road.
74 II | laden with~quantities of apples. The thatched roofs, which
75 I | grey stockings,~and an apron with a bib like those worn
76 II | kidnapping a young~girl, Arabs in the desert, a whale being
77 III| Then they~rested on the arbour. Her mother had bought a
78 II | girls of well-to-do families are--for the animals had~instructed
79 III| maids of the inn were just arising when she~reached Pont-l'
80 II | prospect of serving in the army alarmed him greatly.~To
81 III| one thing was capable of arousing her: a letter from her son.~ ~
82 III| flowers on her head and arranged her curls.~They were blond
83 III| Pont-l'Eveque.~ ~She made an arrangement with a livery-stable man
84 V | the sidewalk. Rare objects~arrested one's eye. A golden sugar-bowl
85 III| was vacation time and the arrival of the children consoled~
86 III| hill, open the gate and arrive at~Virginia's tomb. It was
87 IV | by looking at the bird.~ ~Arriving at the top of Ecquemanville,
88 IV | own room. Thus, she had artificial flowers on~the edge of the
89 V | yard. Slowly the priest ascended the steps and placed his~
90 I | would bury the log~under the ashes and fall asleep in front
91 IV | put out, Felicite did not ask for repairs. The laths of
92 III| speaking of Virginia, and~asking each other if such and such
93 II | Eveque.~ ~Monsieur Bourais assisted her in the choice of a college.
94 IV | in at one glance.~ ~They associated in her mind, the parrot
95 III| church holidays: Easter, Assumption, All Saints' Day.~Household
96 III| motions of the~body. The atmosphere was warm and blue, and a
97 IV | roofs, without paying any~attention to Madame Aubain who screamed
98 V | was carried by M. le Cure, attired in his handsome~chasuble
99 III| her neck and her devout attitude. The bell tinkled. All the
100 IV | haughty that she did not attract them.~Felicite mourned for
101 I | Gouache landscapes and Audran engravings, relics of better~
102 III| his head. He amused his aunt by telling her~stories mingled
103 I | a wooden figure working~automatically.~
104 III| she went to sleep,~only to awaken with a start when they were
105 III| Aubain, as if she were just awakening,~"Oh! yes, yes, you do not
106 II | produced in her the kind of awe which we feel when we see~
107 IV | Every morning when she~awoke, she saw him in the dim
108 III| the Flood, the Tower of Babel, the blazing cities,~the
109 III| with his whole body bend backward and covered~with sea-foam;
110 II | of it.~ ~The road was so bad that it took two hours to
111 II | fifteen minutes, Madame Aubain bade her go.~ ~They always hung
112 II | an extended trip.~ ~The baggage was sent the day before
113 III| cider, baskets of~cheese and bags of meal; chickens cackled,
114 III| of~installing him in the bake-house without his being in Madame'
115 I | twelve pounds which was~baked especially for her and lasted
116 II | Bourais, a retired lawyer. His bald~head and white cravat, the
117 IV | also a watering-can and a~balloon, writing-books, the engraved
118 II | fore-sails swelled up like balloons they glided over the~waves
119 IV | hair, which she wore~in bands framing her pale face, was
120 IV | Espinal,~representing the baptism of our Saviour. With his
121 III| parents had always treated him barbarously; she preferred not to~see
122 III| church, with ruddy cheeks and bared~chest, bringing with him
123 II | and~presently Nastasie Barette, wife of Leroux, made her
124 I | in her hand. Nobody could bargain with greater obstinacy,
125 IV | on the neighbouring farms barked; and~Felicite, with her
126 II | Paul would go to the old barn, catch birds, throw stones
127 I | piano, standing beneath a barometer, was covered~with a pyramid
128 III| sub-prefect was~nominated, the Baron de Larsonniere, ex-consul
129 III| and lock. A note from the baroness told Madame Aubain that~
130 III| were bustling about among barrels of cider, baskets of~cheese
131 III| hoops, a doll-house, and a basic which she had used.~Felicite
132 IV | Virgins, and a holy-water basin made out of a cocoanut;~
133 V | be heard the music of the bass~horns, the clear voices
134 III| sleeves and grasped her~bat; and her loud pounding could
135 IV | spilling the water of his bath.~Madame Aubain grew tired
136 II | for that purpose~by other bathers.~ ~In the afternoon, they
137 II | cliff that overhangs the~bay, and a few minutes later,
138 II | soon as they passed the beacons, they began to ply~to windward.
139 V | with his halberd, then the beadle with a large cross, the
140 II | ancient appearance. The beams of the~ceiling were mouldy,
141 II | clad in miserable rags, beaten for the~slightest offence
142 V | lids. Her lips smiled. The beats of her heart grew fainter
143 II | on the road leading to Beaumont, she came upon a wagon~loaded
144 I | first floor was Madame's bed-chamber, a large room papered in
145 IV | visited the neighbours to beg for candlesticks and~mats
146 II | marry~ ~her. She would not believe him at first, so he made
147 III| her devout attitude. The bell tinkled. All the heads bent~
148 II | head, shook his horns and bellowed with fury. Madame~Aubain
149 I | pretentious one which had belonged to her~ancestors and stood
150 | below
151 IV | heart. She sat down on the bench near~Madame and was telling
152 III| mast, with his whole body bend backward and covered~with
153 IV | the time to journey from Besancon), the~heirs arrived. Her
154 II | Caen was considered the best. So Paul was sent away and
155 | beyond
156 I | stockings,~and an apron with a bib like those worn by hospital
157 III| despair, and in~order to bid him farewell, on Wednesday
158 II | go to the old barn, catch birds, throw stones into the~ ~
159 IV | had the tiresome tricks of biting his perch, pulling his~feathers
160 IV | actions, without any sense~of bitterness or grief.~ ~As she was unable
161 III| was warm and blue, and a blackbird trilled in the~garden; everything
162 II | stove,~some shirts and a blanket; it was evident that they
163 III| the Tower of Babel, the blazing cities,~the dying nations,
164 II | neighing of~horses, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of
165 III| At the hospital they had~bled him too much, treating him
166 II | flakes of foam which the wind blew~away. The sleepy waves lapping
167 II | to back before the bull,~blinding him with dirt, while she
168 III| through the clouds, made her blink her lids, when she gazed
169 III| arranged her curls.~They were blond and of an extraordinary
170 III| the scallops of an oval blotch, adding:~"There it is."
171 III| their lawn, dressed in loose~blouses, and they had a parrot and
172 IV | was imprudent enough to blow the smoke of his~cigar in
173 II | Several of the trees had been blown down, but~they had started
174 III| candles on the bureau made red blurs,~and the windows were dimmed
175 IV | Finally he arrived, sitting bold upright on a branch which
176 IV | during one whole winter her bolster was~wet. After Easter she
177 III| tying the~strings of her bonnet. "Give me my foot-warmer,
178 III| the shoes, the rosary, the book and the gloves. With what~
179 I | piled~on the shelves of a book-case that enclosed three quarters
180 II | the people whose estates bordered the road, adding his own~
181 II | blossoms, while Paul was bored and wished to go home.~ ~
182 III| humility, had wished to be born among the poor,~in a stable?
183 III| wrinkled the stream, at the bottom~of which were long grasses
184 II | utensils,~plates, pitchers, tin bowls, wolf-traps. The children
185 I | pyramid of old books and boxes. On either side of the yellow~
186 II | Virginia amused herself by braiding reeds; Felicite~wove lavender
187 II | road, mingling with the brambles, grew~holly bushes, and
188 IV | sitting bold upright on a branch which could be~screwed into
189 III| brown sugar, or soap, or brandy, and sometimes even money.~
190 I | cleanliness, the lustre on her brass sauce-pans was the envy
191 II | So Paul was sent away and bravely said~good-bye to them all,
192 IV | Mother Simon sat down to breakfast.~ ~A little later, she took
193 II | efforts to appear a man of breeding (he even went so far~as
194 IV | quite settled, brought his bride to visit his~mother.~ ~But
195 II | right. The sea glittered brightly in~the sun and was as smooth
196 II | lights in the trees, the~brightness of the dresses, the laces
197 III| Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton;~whenever he returned from
198 III| cheeks and bared~chest, bringing with him the scent of the
199 III| come back from England and Brittany; but~America, the colonies,
200 II | little too~often and relate broad stories. Felicite would
201 II | was unavoidable. Virginia brooded less and less over it. Felicite~
202 III| handed her a letter from her brother-in-law. As neither of~them could
203 III| she would wake him up, brush~his trousers, tie his cravat
204 II | field~he threw her down brutally. But she grew frightened
205 III| imagined that he was being buffeted by the same storm, perched
206 III| placed him in the sun on a bundle of hay; and the~poor old
207 III| left open; supposing that burglars got in!" And~down she jumped.~ ~
208 III| felt as if he were being~buried with Virginia.~ ~Madame
209 I | securely locked, she would bury the log~under the ashes
210 III| room, she gave way to~it, burying her face in the pillow and
211 III| boat, where~passengers were bustling about among barrels of cider,
212 IV | thrust his head into the butcher-boy's~basket, received a slap,
213 I | fattened the poultry, made the~butter and remained faithful to
214 V | an odour of summer; flies buzzed in the air, the sun~shone
215 II | city~would be filled with a buzzing of voices in which the neighing
216 IV | vestry-room.~ ~Imaginary buzzings also added to her bewilderment.
217 IV | light of dawn and recalled bygone days~and the smallest details
218 II | nurse dressed~her in the cabin of a customs officer, which
219 III| and bags of meal; chickens cackled, the captain swore and a~
220 II | of a college. The one at~Caen was considered the best.
221 II | distance, the hammers of some~calkers pounded the hull of a ship,
222 III| Madame Aubain~received a call, which she returned promptly.
223 II | smooth as a mirror, and so calm that they could~scarcely
224 II | Theodore. He~greeted her calmly, and asked her to forget
225 | can
226 III| in Madame's way.~When the cancer broke, she dressed it every
227 III| to the church to light a candle. Then she ran after~the
228 III| side of the bed. The three candles on the bureau made red blurs,~
229 II | various scenes of the world;~cannibals with feather head-dresses,
230 V | lapis-lazuli.~ ~The singers, the canopy-bearers and the children lined up
231 III| But only~one thing was capable of arousing her: a letter
232 IV | with her hands beneath her cape, her little black sabots
233 III| women covered with black capes, and Felicite. The memory
234 III| consoled~Felicite. But Paul was capricious, and Virginia was growing
235 II | them, and women~with white caps sprang forward to receive
236 III| devoured by savages, or captured in a forest by apes,~or
237 II | reach Trouville. The little caravan~dismounted in order to pass
238 II | condition that they should be~careful of it.~ ~The road was so
239 IV | fish-vendors, the saw of~the carpenter who had a shop opposite,
240 V | from the~first floor to the carpet that covered the sidewalk.
241 II | day before on Liebard's cart. On the~following morning,
242 II | side of the boat; a line of carts was waiting for them, and
243 III| mother had bought a little cask of fine~Malaga wine, and
244 III| shroud, put her into the~casket, laid a wreath of flowers
245 II | rooms. The~dazzling sunlight cast bars of light between the
246 III| where he lay gasping with catarrh, with long hair, inflamed
247 V | shoes sounded like a herd of cattle~passing over the grass.~ ~
248 III| failed to understand~the cause of his mirth, she whose
249 V | was deep~silence; and the censers slipping on their chains
250 II | The house was built~in the centre of the sloping yard; and
251 I | CHAPTER I~For half a century the housewives of Pont-l'
252 II | felt stronger, owing to the change~of air and the action of
253 IV | admitted, looked like a~chapel and a second-hand shop,
254 III| overtook after an hour's chase, sprang up behind~and held
255 V | attired in his handsome~chasuble and walking under a canopy
256 III| over the horizon from~the chateau of Tancarville to the lighthouses
257 II | took them in her little~chemise, as she had no bathing suit,
258 II | mutton, tripe, sausages, a chicken fricassee, sweet cider,
259 III| almost instantly, and the chief surgeon had~said:~ ~"Here
260 IV | over her; the~misery of her childhood, the disappointment of her
261 IV | bellowing of the oxen, the chime of the bells no longer~reached
262 V | displayed on green moss, and two~Chinese screens with their bright
263 II | distinguish its murmur; sparrows chirped joyfully and the~immense
264 II | Bourais assisted her in the choice of a college. The one at~
265 IV | tide in her throat,~almost choked her.~ ~Then she wished to
266 III| soldiers a drink. She nursed cholera~victims. She protected Polish
267 IV | business, came very morning to chop the wood and pump the~water.~ ~
268 II | her~mind; beginning from Christmas, she accompanied the little
269 III| its voice that renders church-bells harmonious. And~Felicite
270 IV | to blow the smoke of his~cigar in his face; another time,
271 IV | something.~ ~The narrow circle of her ideas grew more restricted
272 III| through Victor's captain, the~circumstances which surrounded his death.
273 III| Tower of Babel, the blazing cities,~the dying nations, the
274 II | cows~in the fields. She was clad in miserable rags, beaten
275 III| at the foot of the couch, clasping it with her arms~and uttering
276 III| church and~their wooden shoes clattered on the stone pavement.~ ~
277 III| him some linen, tried to clean his hovel and dreamed of~
278 I | greater obstinacy, and as for~cleanliness, the lustre on her brass
279 V | music of the bass~horns, the clear voices of the children and
280 I | dinner was over, the dishes~cleared away and the door securely
281 V | passing over the grass.~ ~The clergy appeared in the yard. Mother
282 IV | After being first a notary's clerk, then in business, then
283 II | order to pass Les Ecores, a cliff that overhangs the~bay,
284 III| had it not been for the~climate of Pont-l'Eveque.~ ~She
285 II | see you again!" and would close the door.~ ~She opened it
286 III| tried to make lace.~But her clumsy fingers broke the threads;
287 IV | fingers, pecked at her lips, clung to her shawl, and when she
288 III| of the carriage, gave the coachman some~instructions, and smuggled
289 III| left and lost herself in coal-yards; she had to retrace~her
290 III| or dying on some lonely coast. She never mentioned her
291 III| his father took him on a coasting-vessel.~ ~It was vacation time
292 II | shirt, his flowing brown~coat, the manner in which he
293 IV | tongue looked as if it were coated~with smoke, and the leeches
294 IV | kept one of~Monsieur's old coats. All the things which Madame
295 II | sharp sound of wheels on the cobble-~stones. About twelve o'clock,
296 IV | holy-water basin made out of a cocoanut;~on the bureau, which was
297 III| of shells; the second, a coffee-cup; the~third, a big doll of
298 IV | in the~customs, and a tax collector, and having even applied
299 II | assisted her in the choice of a college. The one at~Caen was considered
300 III| the Polish refugees, came Colmiche, an old man who was credited~
301 III| Brittany; but~America, the colonies, the islands, were all lost
302 V | hydrangeas. This mount of bright colours descended diagonally from
303 III| Virginia's tomb. It was a small column of pink marble with a flat~
304 III| at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes,
305 IV | and held a wash-basin, two combs, and a piece of~blue soap
306 I | Madame Aubain had married a comely youth without any money,
307 II | this, she was happy. The comfort of her new~surroundings
308 IV | good-bye to him, now!" she commanded.~ ~Although he was not a
309 II | thirty sous~which she did not commit. She took service on another
310 III| was credited~with having committed frightful misdeeds in '93.
311 IV | As she was unable to communicate with people, she lived in
312 I | the~costume of a dandy. It communicated with a smaller room, in
313 IV | herself, or ill effects to the community, the cure thought it~advisable
314 II | where~he would have boy companions.~ ~ ~Madame Aubain resigned
315 IV | wished to know what her~complaint was. But, being too deaf
316 IV | lifelike in her eyes, and more comprehensible. In all probability the~
317 II | She got up a lunch which comprised a leg of~mutton, tripe,
318 II | in constant fear of being~compromised, had a great regard for
319 III| good sister, with an air of~compunction, told her that "she had
320 III| The priest first read a condensed lesson of sacred history.
321 II | for the occasion on the condition that they should be~careful
322 V | deacon with outstretched arms conducted the music; and two~incense-bearers
323 IV | rumours of suicide, which were confirmed; doubts concerning~his integrity
324 IV | the ocean~spread out in a confused mass. Then a weakness came
325 II | them in a sort of giddy confusion.~ ~When the heat was too
326 III| anything wrong, and whose conscience was so~pure! But no! she
327 II | in~order to escape the conscription, he had married a rich old
328 IV | proper. But the cure gave his consent~and she was so grateful
329 IV | certain man named Fellacher consented to~do the work. But, as
330 IV | she never got over it.~In consequence of a cold, she caught a
331 II | college. The one at~Caen was considered the best. So Paul was sent
332 II | The principal diversion consisted in watching the return of
333 III| four days!~ ~In order to console her mistress by her own
334 III| Day.~Household happenings constituted the only data to which in
335 III| come back~to the bed and contemplate the body. At the end of
336 III| growing weaker.~ ~A cough, continual fever, oppressive breathing
337 IV | she could, at least, have contributed~something towards it! Then
338 II | occurrence was a topic of conversation in Pont-~l'Eveque. But Felicite
339 IV | front door."~ ~They held conversations together, Loulou repeating
340 II | that she was looking for a cook. The girl did~not know very
341 I | hundred francs a year, she cooked and did the housework, washed,~
342 IV | put him on the grass to cool him and went away only for
343 III| found him in the kitchen coolly~eating a dish which he had
344 III| devoutly, while enjoying the coolness and the~stillness of the
345 III| looked like the hair of corpses~floating in the water. She
346 I | Monsieur dressed in the~costume of a dandy. It communicated
347 IV | table was~placed by the cot and held a wash-basin, two
348 II | was all that remained of a cottage that had been torn~down.
349 III| Aubain lay at the foot of the couch, clasping it with her arms~
350 IV | day~before the event, she coughed more frequently. In the
351 III| Madame Aubain, who was counting the stitches of her knitting,
352 III| with him the scent of the country. She would set the~table
353 II | she managed, by dint of courage, to climb the other side
354 II | that it took two hours to cover the eight miles.~The two
355 II | greatly.~To Felicite his cowardice appeared a proof of his
356 II | quite small, let her keep cows~in the fields. She was clad
357 III| peeped at him through the~cracks in the walls and threw stones
358 III| disclosing their spots and the creases formed by the motions of
359 III| of hay; and the~poor old creature, trembling and drooling,
360 II | Eveque. But Felicite took no credit to herself, and probably
361 III| Colmiche, an old man who was credited~with having committed frightful
362 II | of the harbour. Then they crept up~alongside of the dock
363 I | which~there were two little cribs, without any mattresses.
364 V | the beadle with a large cross, the teacher in~charge of
365 II | dresses, the laces and gold crosses, and the crowd~of people
366 V | A golden sugar-bowl was crowned with violets,~earrings set
367 III| she wept. Why had they crucified~Him who loved little children,
368 III| thrown back, beneath a black crucifix inclined~toward her, and
369 IV | neck, although he was not cruelly~inclined, notwithstanding
370 II | the wagon-shed was fast crumbling to ruins. Madame Aubain~
371 I | ate~she would gather up crumbs with the tip of her finger,
372 II | back to it, while on the crupper of~the other was a rolled
373 IV | handkerchief; then she ate a crust of bread she had put in
374 IV | the kitchen, the shrill cry of the fish-vendors, the
375 IV | it off with her nails and~cured him. One day, Paul was imprudent
376 III| her head and arranged her curls.~They were blond and of
377 V | the smallest ones, with curly heads, threw rose leaves
378 III| inclined~toward her, and stiff curtains which were less white than
379 III| III~After she had made a curtsey at the threshold, she would
380 V | the street came first the custodian of the church~with his halberd,
381 III| length for her age. Felicite~cut off a big lock and put half
382 IV | taunts were like so many~dagger thrusts to Felicite. Strange
383 II | eat in a room next to the~dairy. This room was all that
384 III| through the holes of the dam with a deafening roar.~The
385 II | her, and asked her for a dance. He treated her to cider
386 I | dressed in the~costume of a dandy. It communicated with a
387 III| and she recognised her darling by the slenderness of~her
388 III| happenings constituted the only data to which in later years~
389 III| 1819 (she never forgot the date), Victor~announced that
390 III| cabin-boy, a pauper!--but my daughter--what~a difference! just
391 IV | the~heirs arrived. Her daughter-in-law ransacked the drawers, kept
392 II | Lamb, an inn kept by Mother David.~ ~During the first few
393 IV | him in the dim light of dawn and recalled bygone days~
394 III| her a letter. At last, at daylight she took the~diligence for
395 II | Colleville. She was~immediately dazzled by the noise, the lights
396 II | remained in their rooms. The~dazzling sunlight cast bars of light
397 V | leaves into the air;~the deacon with outstretched arms conducted
398 III| holes of the dam with a deafening roar.~The town clock struck
399 III| must~entrust that which was dearest to her to the Lord; and
400 II | field facing the ocean, with Deauville on~their left, and Havre
401 III| Corpus-Christi Day they both decorated an~altar.~ ~She worried
402 V | Everybody knelt. There was deep~silence; and the censers
403 V | the children and the men's deeper notes. At~intervals all
404 III| worshippers struck up the Agnes Dei; the boys' procession~began;
405 III| until morning, and surely a~delay would annoy Madame, so,
406 III| Virginia was affectionate but delicate. The~slightest emotion enervated
407 III| not experience the same delight as on the previous day.~ ~
408 III| uproariously;~such ignorance delighted his soul; but Felicite failed
409 V | out of church.~Felicite's delirium subsided. By thinking of
410 II | was lavish with~joyful demonstrations. She got up a lunch which
411 II | exactly eight o'clock and departed~before eleven.~ ~Every Monday
412 III| the sight of the ocean. A~derrick pulled them up in the air,
413 V | mount of bright colours descended diagonally from the~first
414 IV | never seen the parrot, she described him~minutely. Suddenly she
415 II | young~girl, Arabs in the desert, a whale being harpooned,
416 I | room papered in a~flowered design and containing the portrait
417 III| Madame, so, in spite of her desire to see the other~child,
418 IV | towards the bird.~ ~She desired very much to enter in the
419 I | quarters of the big~black desk. Two panels were entirely
420 II | Lord, and wandered around desolately until~sunrise. Then she
421 III| the lungs; perhaps it was desperate.~ ~"Not yet," said the physician,
422 IV | bygone days~and the smallest details of insignificant actions,
423 IV | shoulder--Loulou! What the deuce had he been doing?~Perhaps
424 II | the direction of a poor devil~employed at the town-hall,
425 IV | liked the bird, and, out of devilry, tried to~teach him oaths.
426 IV | shop, so filled was it with devotional and~heterogeneous things.
427 III| geography~--he was being devoured by savages, or captured
428 III| slenderness of~her neck and her devout attitude. The bell tinkled.
429 III| And~Felicite worshipped devoutly, while enjoying the coolness
430 V | bright colours descended diagonally from the~first floor to
431 IV | fact that Madame should die before herself perplexed
432 III| but my daughter--what~a difference! just think of it!--"~ ~
433 II | and her sisters went their different ways; a~farmer took her
434 II | short time he mentioned a difficulty; the previous year, his~
435 II | had been torn~down. The dilapidated wall-paper trembled in the
436 I | Summer and winter she wore a dimity kerchief fastened in the
437 III| blurs,~and the windows were dimmed by the fog outside. The
438 II | several times~she managed, by dint of courage, to climb the
439 IV | proclaimed throughout the diocese without any shame to~herself,
440 II | s studies were under the direction of a poor devil~employed
441 III| the choir from view, but directly in front of her, the flock~
442 II | bull,~blinding him with dirt, while she shouted to them
443 IV | misery of her childhood, the disappointment of her first love, the~departure
444 IV | things which Madame Aubain discarded,~Felicite begged for her
445 II | and her flying legs would disclose her~little embroidered pantalettes.
446 III| fell on the piteous things,~disclosing their spots and the creases
447 III| not even try.~The priest discoursed, the children recited, and
448 IV | over her accounts and soon~discovered his numerous embezzlements;
449 II | another minute he would have~disembowelled her. She had just time to
450 III| kitchen coolly~eating a dish which he had prepared for
451 I | when dinner was over, the dishes~cleared away and the door
452 III| rattled in the chimney and dislodged the tiles on the roof, she~
453 II | slightest offence and finally dismissed for a theft of thirty sous~
454 IV | Virgin." But Madame Aubain dissuaded her from it.~ ~A most important
455 V | crowd grew louder, was very distinct for a moment~and then died
456 II | that they could~scarcely distinguish its murmur; sparrows chirped
457 II | grunting of pigs, could be~distinguished, mingled with the sharp
458 III| In order to have some distraction, she asked leave to receive
459 II | of tar.~ ~The principal diversion consisted in watching the
460 IV | parrot's voice.~ ~As if to divert her mind, he reproduced
461 II | but soon a new occupation diverted her~mind; beginning from
462 IV | thirty-six years old, by a divine inspiration, found his vocation:~
463 III| the church.~ ~As for the dogma, she could not understand
464 IV | were~covered with ice. The dogs on the neighbouring farms
465 IV | What the deuce had he been doing?~Perhaps he had just taken
466 III| coffee-cup; the~third, a big doll of ginger-bread. He was
467 III| three~dolls, some hoops, a doll-house, and a basic which she had
468 III| shelf where there were three~dolls, some hoops, a doll-house,
469 IV | surrounded her when the dominie administered the~Extreme
470 | done
471 IV | shop opposite, and when the door-bell rang, he~would imitate Madame
472 III| she would stand in the doorway~with a jug of cider and
473 III| up the~aisle between the double lines of chairs, open Madame
474 III| these~honours, made her doubly unhappy, and she felt as
475 IV | suicide, which were confirmed; doubts concerning~his integrity
476 IV | never chosen as messenger a dove, as the latter has no~voice,
477 III| sake of the Lamb, and the doves because~of the Holy Ghost.~ ~
478 II | began,~it was limited by the downs which separated it from
479 IV | the house.~ ~When he went downstairs, he rested his beak on the
480 III| smuggled six jars of jam, a dozen pears and a bunch~of violets
481 IV | friendship for "a person in~Dozule."~ ~These base actions affected
482 II | but any day he might be~drafted and the prospect of serving
483 II | wall-paper trembled in the drafts. Madame~Aubain, overwhelmed
484 IV | her fainting spell, she dragged her leg, and as her strength
485 III| Saint Michael felling the dragon.~ ~The priest first read
486 IV | daughter-in-law ransacked the drawers, kept some of~the furniture,
487 III| tried to clean his hovel and dreamed of~installing him in the
488 III| cried in the midst of her dreams. Of the latter, one more~
489 II | trees, the~brightness of the dresses, the laces and gold crosses,
490 IV | the altars in the street drew near.~ ~The first one was
491 III| profession as he was absorbed in drinking. His~mother paid his debts
492 IV | his native forests. The dripping of the~rain would excite
493 II | side of it.~ ~The bull had driven Felicite up against a fence;
494 III| creature, trembling and drooling, would thank her in his~
495 III| they grew pink. Then, with drooping head,~inert hands and staring
496 III| intoxicated, would drink a few drops of it, but never more.~ ~
497 III| a livery-stable man who drove her over to~the convent
498 IV | hop around in order to get dry.~ ~One morning during the
499 III| them up in the air, and dumped them into a boat, where~
500 III| successively to Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton;~whenever
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