The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 3Sue, Eugène
General
The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 3
Sue, Eugène
Paris (France) -- Fiction
"Is your dog so very tired, sir?"
The fat man grumbled out some indistinct reply, and continued on his
way.
"My dear neighbour," said Rodolph, "are you losing your senses?"
"It is your fault if I am."
"How so?"
"Because you talk such nonsense to me."
"Do you call my saying that perhaps you might be ill, talking
foolishly?"
And, once more overcome by the irresistible mirth awakened by the
absurdity of Rodolph's suggestion, Rigolette again relapsed into long
and hearty fits of laughter; while Rodolph, deeply struck by this blind,
yet happy reliance upon the future, felt angry with himself for having
tried to shake it, though he almost shuddered as he pictured to himself
the havoc a single month's illness would make in this peaceful mode of
life. Then the implicit reliance entertained by Rigolette on the
stability of her employ, and her youthful courage, her sole treasures,
struck Rodolph as breathing the very essence of pure and contented
innocence; for the confidence expressed by the young dressmaker arose
neither from recklessness nor improvidence, but from an instinctive
dependence and belief in that divine justice which would never forsake a
virtuous and industrious creature,--a simple girl, whose greatest crime
was in relying too confidently on the blessed gifts of youth and health,
the precious boon of a heavenly benefactor. Do the birds of the air
remember, as they flit on gay and agile wing amidst the blue skies of
summer, or skim lightly over the sweet-smelling fields of blooming
lucerne, that bleak, cold winter must follow so much enjoyment?
"Then," said Rodolph to the grisette, "it seems you have no wish for
anything more than you already possess?"
"No, really I have not."
"Positively, nothing you desire?"
"No, I tell you. Stay, yes, now I recollect, there are those sweet
pretty chimney ornaments; but I shall be sure to have them some of these
days, though I do not know exactly when; but still, they do so run in my
head, that, sooner than be disappointed, I will sit up all night to
work."
"And besides these ornaments?"
"Oh, nothing more; no, I cannot recollect any one other thing I care for
more especially now."
"Why now, particularly?"
"Because, yesterday, if you had asked me the same question, I should
have replied, there was nothing I wanted more than an agreeable
neighbour in your apartments, to give me an opportunity of showing all
the little acts of kindness I have been accustomed to perform, and to
receive nice little attentions in return."
"Well, but you know, my dear neighbour, we have already entered into an
agreement to be mutually serviceable to each other; you will look after
my linen for me, and I shall clean up and polish your chamber for you;
and besides attending to my linen, you are to wake me every morning
early by tapping against the wainscot."
"And do you think you have named all I shall expect you to do?"
"What else can I do?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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