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Albert Savarus

Creator: Balzac, Honoré de, 1799-1850
Translator: Marriage, Ellen
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She fetched him some salts, and revived Rodolphe by making him smell at them. "Married!" said Rodolphe, looking at Francesca. And then his tears flowed freely. "Child!" said she. "But there is still hope. My husband is--" "Eighty?" Rodolphe put in. "No," said she with a smile, "but sixty-five. He has disguised himself as much older to mislead the police." "Dearest," said Rodolphe, "a few more shocks of this kind and I shall die. Only when you have known me twenty years will you understand the strength and power of my heart, and the nature of its aspirations for happiness. This plant," he went on, pointing to the yellow jasmine which covered the balustrade, "does not climb more eagerly to spread itself in the sunbeams than I have clung to you for this month past. I love you with unique passion. That love will be the secret fount of my life--I may possibly die of it." "Oh! Frenchman, Frenchman!" said she, emphasizing her exclamation with a little incredulous grimace.
The Chouans

THE CHOUANS I AN AMBUSCADE Early in the year VIII., at the beginning of Vendemiaire, or, to conform to our own calendar, towards the close of September, 1799, a hundred or so of peasants and a large number of citizens, who had left Fougeres in the morning on their way to Mayenne, were going up the little mountain of La Pelerine, half-way between Fougeres and Ernee, a small town where travellers along that road are in the habit of resting. This company, divided into groups that were more or less numerous, presented a collection of such fantastic costumes and a mixture of individuals belonging to so many and diverse localities and professions that it will be well to describe their characteristic differences, in order to give to this history the vivid local coloring to which so much value is attached in these days,--though some critics do assert that it injures the representation of sentiments.
"Shall I not be forced to wait, to accept you at the hands of time?" said he gravely. "But know this: if you are in earnest in what you have allowed to escape you, I will wait for you faithfully, without suffering any other attachment to grow up in my heart." She looked at him doubtfully. "None," said he, "not even a passing fancy. I have my fortune to make; you must have a splendid one, nature created you a princess----" At this word Francesca could not repress a faint smile, which gave her face the most bewildering expression, something subtle, like what the great Leonardo has so well depicted in the _Gioconda_. This smile made Rodolphe pause. "Ah yes!" he went on, "you must suffer much from the destitution to which exile has brought you. Oh, if you would make me happy above all men, and consecrate my love, you would treat me as a friend. Ought I not to be your friend?--My poor mother has left sixty thousand francs of savings; take half." Francesca looked steadily at him. This piercing gaze went to the bottom of Rodolphe's soul. "We want nothing; my work amply supplies our luxuries," she replied in a grave voice. "And can I endure that a Francesca should work?" cried he. "One day