The Anatole France MEGAPACK ®: 32 Classic Novels & Stories by Anatole France

Author:Anatole France [France, Anatole]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: nobel price, novel, classic, french, France
ISBN: 9781479402670
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2015-03-15T16:00:00+00:00

She had stopped on the topmost step in front of the doors, and was chatting with Constantin Marc and a few journalists:

“...Monsieur de Ligny? He danced attendance upon me long before he knew Nanteuil. He used to gaze upon me by the hour, with eager eyes, without daring to speak a word to me. I received him willingly enough, for his behaviour was perfect. It is only fair to say that his manners are excellent. He was as reserved as a man could be. At last, one day, he declared that he was madly in love with me. I told him that as he was speaking to me seriously I would do the same; that I was truly sorry to see him in such a state; that every time such a thing happened I was greatly upset by it; that I was a woman of standing, I had settled my life, and could do nothing for him. He was desperate. He informed me that he was leaving for Constantinople, that he would never return. He couldn’t make up his mind either to remain or to go away. He fell ill. Nanteuil, who thought I loved him and wanted to keep him, did all in her power to get him away from me. She flung herself at his head in the craziest fashion, I found her sometimes a trifle ridiculous, but, as you may imagine, I did not place any obstacle in her path. For his part, Monsieur de Ligny, with the object of inspiring me with regret, with vexation, or what not, perhaps in the hope of making me jealous, responded very visibly to Nanteuil’s advances. And that is how they came to be together. I was delighted. Nanteuil and I are the best of friends.”

Madame Doulce, hedged in on either side by the onlookers, came slowly down the steps, indulging herself in the illusion that the crowd was whispering, “That’s Doulce!”

She seized Nanteuil as she was passing, pressed her to her bosom, and with a beautiful gesture of Christian charity enveloped her in her mantle, saying through her sobs:

“Try to pray, my child, and accept this medal. It has been blessed by the Pope. A Dominican Father gave it to me.”

Madame Nanteuil, who was a little out of breath, but was growing young again since she had renewed her experience of love, was the last to come out. Durville pressed her hand.

“Poor Chevalier!” he murmured.

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