France -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English; Italy -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
Two hours later, when the setting sun made immeasurably longer the
shadows on the stones, Therese, who had wished to walk alone in the
city, found herself in front of the two obelisks of Santa Maria Novella
without knowing how she had reached there. She saw at the corner of the
square the old cobbler drawing his string with his eternal gesture. He
smiled, bearing his sparrow on his shoulder.
She went into the shop, and sat on a chair. She said in French:
“Quentin Matsys, my friend, what have I done, and what will become of
me?”
He looked at her quietly, with laughing kindness, not understanding nor
caring. Nothing astonished him. She shook her head.
“What I did, my good Quentin, I did because he was suffering, and
because I loved him. I regret nothing.”
He replied, as was his habit, with the sonorous syllable of Italy:
“Si! si!”
“Is it not so, Quentin? I have not done wrong? But, my God! what will
happen now?”
She prepared to go. He made her understand that he wished her to wait.
He culled carefully a bit of basilick and offered it to her.
“For its fragrance, signora!”
CHAPTER XIX. CHOULETTE TAKES A JOURNEY
It was the next day.
Having carefully placed on the drawing-room table his knotty stick, his
pipe, and his antique carpet-bag, Choulette bowed to Madame Martin, who
was reading at the window. He was going to Assisi. He wore a sheepskin
coat, and resembled the old shepherds in pictures of the Nativity.
“Farewell, Madame. I am quitting Fiesole, you, Dechartre, the too
handsome Prince Albertinelli, and that gentle ogress, Miss Bell. I am
going to visit the Assisi mountain, which the poet says must be named no
longer Assisi, but the Orient, because it is there that the sun of love
rose. I am going to kneel before the happy crypt where Saint Francis is
resting in a stone manger, with a stone for a pillow. For he would not
even take out of this world a shroud--out of this world where he left
the revelation of all joy and of all kindness.”
“Farewell, Monsieur Choulette. Bring me a medal of Saint Clara. I like
Saint Clara a great deal.”
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.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account