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Musset, Alfred de, 1810-1857

"The Confession of a Child of the Century"

At first
she thought I, too, must be joking; but when she saw me growing paler
every moment, as though about to faint, she stood with open lips and bent
body, looking like a statue.
"God of Heaven!" she cried, "is it possible?"
You smile, perhaps, reader, at this page; I, who write it, still shudder
as I think of it. Misfortunes have their symptoms as well as diseases,
and there is nothing so terrible at sea as a little black point on the
horizon.
However, my dear Brigitte drew a little round table into the center of
the room and brought out some supper. She had prepared it herself and I
did not drink a drop that was not first borne to her lips. The blue light
of day, piercing through the curtains, illumined her charming face and
tender eyes; she was tired and allowed her head to fall on my shoulder
with a thousand terms of endearment.
I could not struggle against such charming abandon, and my heart expanded
with joy; I believed I had rid myself of the bad dream that had just
tormented me, and I begged her pardon for giving way to a sudden impulse
which I, myself, did not understand.
"My friend," I said from the bottom of my heart, "I am very sorry that I
unjustly reproached you for a piece of innocent badinage; but if you love
me, never lie to me, even in the smallest matter, for a lie is an
abomination to me and I can not endure it."
I told her I would remain until she was asleep.


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