A Sheaf of BluebellsOrczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
History
A Sheaf of Bluebells
Orczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
When the two Emperors met upon the bridge at Tilsit and decided on the
terms of peace, de Maurel, created Marshal of France on the field of
Auerstadt, returned quietly to La Vieuville in time, he hoped, to close
the eyes of old Gaston and to hear his last dying words. He had been
home just three days. The day after his arrival he sent back the
military representatives who had looked after his factories for him
during his absence, and quietly took up once more the reins of
government, which an unendurable heart-ache had caused to drop
temporarily out of his hands. He laid aside his fine uniform and once
more took up his blouse and his woollen cap. Old Gaston was too feeble
to note the subtle change which had come over his nephew during twelve
months of rough campaigning among the snows and the marshes of Poland;
he did not perceive how passing seldom Ronnay ever spoke now, or how he
sat late into the night staring straight out before him with a yearning
gaze in his dark, deep-set eyes. He had passed through Paris on his way
home and brought back a number of books with him--he who before this had
never troubled about one in his life--and when his eyes ached from
staring into vacancy, he would open one of these books, and drawing the
lamp closer to him, he would rest his elbow on the table and shade his
face with his hand and become so absorbed, that the grey dawn would oft
find him still sitting in the invalid's room, with the book open in
front of him--unless he had pushed it aside and sat with his head buried
in his hands.
On the day of his arrival he had, with the help of Madame Lapin,
reorganized the La Vieuville household on a more comfortable basis. But
little could be done in the way of comforts for the dying man; he was
past noticing if his room was aired or his food brought to him at
regular intervals. The village doctor visited him from time to time, but
there was nothing to be done now. The machinery of life was worn out;
for over a year now it had threatened to break down altogether--an iron
constitution and an invincible will to live until the beloved nephew
came home once more, had alone kept the enfeebled heart to its work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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