The Sin of Monsieur Antoine, Volume 2 (of 2) and Leone LeoniSand, George
General
The Sin of Monsieur Antoine, Volume 2 (of 2) and Leone Leoni
Sand, George
French fiction -- 19th century
"Paul Henryet!" he said. "Twenty-two years old, twenty-four at most. A
cold but handsome face. A rigid, upright character. Hatred of injustice.
The uncompromising pride of honesty, and withal something tender and
melancholy. He loved Juliette, he has always loved her. He fought
against his passion to no purpose. I see by that letter that he loved
her still, and that he would have worshipped her if he could have cured
her. Juliette, Juliette! you might still have been happy with him, and I
have killed him! I have robbed you of the man who might have comforted
you; your only defender is no more, and you remain the victim of a
bandit."
"Very fine!" said the marquis; "I wish that you might never move your
lips without having a stenographer beside you to preserve all the noble
and affecting things you say. For my part, I am going to bed.
Good-night, my dear fellow; go to bed to your wife, but change your
shirt first; for, deuce take me! you have Henryet's blood on your
frill!"
The marquis left the room. Leoni, after a moment's irresolution, came to
my bed, raised the curtain and looked at me. He saw that I was only
drowsing under my bedclothes, and that my eyes were open and fixed upon
him. He could not endure my livid face and fixed stare; he fell back
with a cry of horror, and I called him several times in a weak, broken
voice: "Murderer! murderer! murderer!"
He fell on his knees as if struck by lightning, and dragged himself to
my bed with an imploring air.
"Go to bed to your wife," I said, repeating the marquis's words in a
sort of delirium; "but change your shirt, for you have Henryet's blood
on your frill!"
Leoni fell face downward on the floor, uttering inarticulate cries. I
lost my reason altogether, and it seemed to me that I repeated his
cries, imitating with dazed servility the tone of his voice and the
contortions of his body. He thought that I was mad, and, springing to
his feet in terror, came to my side. I thought that he was going to kill
me; I threw myself out of bed, crying: "Mercy! mercy! I won't tell!" and
I fainted just as he seized me, to lift me up and assist me.
XIX
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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