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Musset, Alfred de, 1810-1857

"The Confession of a Child of the Century"

Some distant flashes of
lightning could still be seen; the perfume of humid verdure filled the
warm air. The sky soon cleared and the moon illumined the mountain.
I could not help thinking of the freakishness of chance, which had seen
fit to make me the solitary companion of a woman, of whose existence I
knew nothing a few hours before. She had accepted me as her escort on
account of the name I bore, and leaned on my arm with quiet confidence.
In spite of her distracted air, it seemed to me that this confidence was
either very bold or very simple; and she must needs be either the one or
the other, for at each step, I felt my heart becoming at once proud and
innocent.
We spoke of the sick woman she had just left, of the scenes along the
route; it did not occur to us to ask the questions incident to a new
acquaintance. She spoke to me of my father, and always in the same tone I
had noted when I first revealed my name--that is, cheerfully, almost
gaily. By degrees, I thought I understood why she did this, observing
that she spoke thus of all, both living and dead, of life and of
suffering and death. It was because human sorrows had taught her nothing
that could accuse God, and I felt the piety of her smile.
I told her of the solitary life I was leading. Her aunt, she said, had
seen more of my father than she, as they sometimes played cards together
after dinner. She urged me to visit them, assuring me a welcome.


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