Ignorant he might be, as Felicite had told him, of the tricks of
thought of the jesters of the press, but one thing he knew--Love was
the human religion.
When his mother saw him entering the court-yard she uttered an
exclamation of joy, and Zephirine whistled for Mariotte.
"Mariotte, the boy is coming! cook the fish!"
"I see him, mademoiselle," replied the woman.
Fanny, uneasy at the sadness she saw on her son's brow, picked up her
worsted-work; the old aunt took out her knitting. The baron gave his
arm-chair to his son and walked about the room, as if to stretch his
legs before going out to take a turn in the garden. No Flemish or
Dutch picture ever presented an interior in tones more mellow, peopled
with faces and forms so harmoniously blending. The handsome young man
in his black velvet coat, the mother, still so beautiful, and the aged
brother and sister framed by that ancient hall, were a moving domestic
harmony.
Fanny would fain have questioned Calyste, but he had already pulled a
letter from his pocket,--that letter of the Marquise Beatrix, which
was, perhaps, destined to destroy the happiness of this noble family.
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