The rest of this artless letter was merely
repetition. But if it was not likely to touch Madame de Rochefide, and
would very slightly interest the admirers of strong emotions, it made
the mother weep, as she said to her son, in her tender voice,--
"My child, you are not happy."
This tumultuous poem of sentiments which had arisen like a storm in
Calyste's heart, terrified the baroness; for the first time in her
life she read a love-letter.
Calyste was standing in deep perplexity; how could he send that
letter? He followed his mother back into the salon with the letter in
his pocket and burning in his heart like fire. The Chevalier du Halga
was still there, and the last deal of a lively /mouche/ was going on.
Charlotte de Kergarouet, in despair at Calyste's indifference, was
paying attention to his father as a means of promoting her marriage.
Calyste wandered hither and thither like a butterfly which had flown
into the room by mistake. At last, when /mouche/ was over, he drew the
Chevalier du Halga into the great salon, from which he sent away
Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's page and Mariotte.
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