The Clique of Gold by Émile Gaboriau
page 56 of 698 (08%)
page 56 of 698 (08%)
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"Courage, my dear sir, courage!"
He, overcome, with downcast eye, and cold perspiration on his pallid brow, did not understand him; for he continued to stammer incessantly,-- "It is nothing, I hope. Did you not say it was nothing?" There are misfortunes so terrible, so overwhelming in their suddenness, that the stunned mind refuses to believe them, and denies their genuineness in spite of their actual presence. How could any one imagine or comprehend that the countess, who but a moment ago was standing there full of life, in perfect health, and the whole vigor of her years, apparently perfectly happy, smiling, and beloved by all,--how could one conceive that she had all at once ceased to exist? They had laid her on her bed in her ball costume,--a blue satin dress trimmed with lace. The flowers were still in her hair; and the blow had come with such suddenness, that, even in death, she retained the appearance of life; she was still warm, her skin transparent, and her limbs supple. Even her eyes, still wide open, retained their expression, and betrayed the last sensation that had filled her heart,--terror. It looked as if she had had at that last moment a revelation of the future which her too great cautiousness had prepared for her daughter. "My mother is not dead; oh, no! she cannot be dead!" exclaimed Henrietta. And she went from one doctor to the other, urging them, beseeching them, to find some means-- |
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