Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Short stories
at the end of the great alley. At that hour—you may imagine! And the
evening before he had declared himself indisposed. She hurried on some
clothes and flew down to him. One would be anxious for less. He loves her,
but not very intelligently. He had been up all night, fully dressed, the
poor old man, perfectly exhausted. He wasn’t in a state to invent a
plausible story. . . . What a confidant you chose there! My husband was
furious. He said, ‘We can’t interfere now.’ So we sat down to wait. It was
awful. And this poor child running with her hair loose over here publicly!
She has been seen by some people in the fields. She has roused the whole
household, too. It’s awkward for her. Luckily you are to be married next
week. . . . Adele, sit up. He has come home on his own legs. . . . We
expected to see you coming on a stretcher, perhaps—what do I know?
Go and see if the carriage is ready. I must take this child home at once.
It isn’t proper for her to stay here a minute longer.”
</p>
<p>
General D’Hubert did not move. It was as though he had heard nothing.
Madame Leonie changed her mind. “I will go and see myself,” she cried. “I
want also my cloak.—Adele—” she began, but did not add “sit
up.” She went out saying, in a very loud and cheerful tone: “I leave the
door open.”
</p>
<p>
General D’Hubert made a movement towards the divan, but then Adele sat up,
and that checked him dead. He thought, “I haven’t washed this morning. I
must look like an old tramp. There’s earth on the back of my coat and
pine-needles in my hair.” It occurred to him that the situation required a
good deal of circumspection on his part.
</p>
<p>
“I am greatly concerned, mademoiselle,” he began, vaguely, and abandoned
that line. She was sitting up on the divan with her cheeks unusually pink
and her hair, brilliantly fair, falling all over her shoulders—which
was a very novel sight to the general. He walked away up the room, and
looking out of the window for safety said, “I fear you must think I
behaved like a madman,” in accents of sincere despair. Then he spun round,
and noticed that she had followed him with her eyes. They were not cast
down on meeting his glance. And the expression of her face was novel to
him also. It was, one might have said, reversed. Those eyes looked at him
with grave thoughtfulness, while the exquisite lines of her mouth seemed
to suggest a restrained smile. This change made her transcendental beauty
much less mysterious, much more accessible to a man’s comprehension. An
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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