Napoleonic Wars, 1800-1815 -- Fiction; War stories
Later he would sit on a stool outside the closed door
listening to the well-bred soft uproar of conversation; and when the
guests began to depart he lighted them downstairs, holding a tallow dip
in a small candlestick over the banister of the landing. When his duties
for the day were over he made up for himself a bed on the floor of a
narrow passage which separated the living rooms from a sort of large
cupboard in which Miss Aglae reposed from her daily labours. Bernard,
lying under a pair of thin blankets and with the tallow candle burning
on the floor, kept slumber off till Miss Aglae stuck out her head tied
up in an old red foulard--nothing but her head through the crack of the
door--in order to have a little whispered conversation. That was the
time when the servants exchanged their views and communicated to each
other their ideas and observations. The black maid's were shrewder than
the white factotum's. Being a personal attendant of the two ladies she
had occasion to see and hear more than her admirer. They commented on
the evident decline of the Marquise's health, not dolefully but simply
as a significant fact of the situation; on the Marquis's manner of daily
life which had become domestic and almost sedentary. He went out every
day but now he never went away for weeks and months as he used to
before. Those sudden and mysterious missions for which a misanthropic
Yorkshire baronet had paid out of his own pocket had come to an end. A
Marquis d'Armand could not be sent out as a common spy and there was now
no court in Christendom that would dare to receive an emissary, secret
or open, of the royal exiles. Bernard, who could read, explained these
things shortly to Miss Aglae. All great folk were terrified at that
Bonaparte. He made all the generals tremble. On those facts Miss Aglae
would have it that he must be a sorcerer. Bernard had another view of
Napoleonic greatness. It was nothing but the power of lies. And on one
occasion after a slight hesitation he burst out: "Shall I tell you the
truth about him. Miss Aglae?" The tied-up black head protruding through
the crack of the door nodded assent many times in the dim light of the
tallow dip. "Well then," continued Bernard with another desperate
effort, "he is of no account."
Miss Aglae repressed with difficulty the loud burst of laughter which
was the usual expression of her unsophisticated emotions. She had heard
ladies and gentlemen in the salon express a very similar opinion of
Bonaparte, but she thought suddenly of Miss Adèle and emitted a sigh.
"He seems to get him paw on the whole world, anyhow. What sort of a
fellow is he, Bernard? You have seen him."
Bernard had seen the fellow. He assured Miss Aglae that he was a
miserable shrimp of a man in big boots and with lank hair hanging down
his yellow cheeks. "I could break him in two like a straw if I could
only get him into my hands."
Believing it implicitly, the black maid suggested that Bernard should go
and do it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account