The duchess died towards morning, mourned by the servants of the
household, who, for all comment, were heard to say beside her grave,
"She was a comely woman, sent from Paradise."
Etienne's sorrow was the most intense, the most lasting of sorrows,
and wholly silent. He wandered no more among his rocks; he felt no
strength to read or sing. He spent whole days crouched in the crevice
of a rock, caring nought for the inclemency of the weather,
motionless, fastened to the granite like the lichen that grew upon it;
weeping seldom, lost in one sole thought, immense, infinite as the
ocean, and, like that ocean, taking a thousand forms,--terrible,
tempestuous, tender, calm. It was more than sorrow; it was a new
existence, an irrevocable destiny, dooming this innocent creature to
smile no more. There are pangs which, like a drop of blood cast into
flowing water, stain the whole current instantly. The stream, renewed
from its source, restores the purity of its surface; but with Etienne
the source itself was polluted, and each new current brought its own
gall.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93