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Musset, Alfred de, 1810-1857

"The Confession of a Child of the Century"

The pretty hat would become you and can I not, if I am
skilful, give that fine mountaineer some resemblance to me?"
The whim seemed to please her and she set about rubbing out the two
faces. When I had painted her portrait, she wished to try mine. The faces
were very small, hence not very difficult; it was agreed that the
likenesses were striking. While we were laughing at it, the door opened
and I was called away by the servant.
When I returned, Smith was leaning on the table and looking at the
picture with interest. He was absorbed in a profound reverie and was not
aware of my presence; I sat down near the fire and it was not until I
spoke to Brigitte that he raised his head. He looked at us a moment, then
hastily took his leave and, as he approached the door, I saw him strike
his forehead with his hand.
When I discovered these signs of grief, I said to myself: "What does it
mean?" Then I clasped my hands to plead with--whom? I do not know;
perhaps my good angel, perhaps my evil destiny.

CHAPTER IV
MY heart yearned to set out and yet I delayed; some secret influence
rooted me to the spot.
When Smith came, I knew no repose from the time he entered the room. How
is it that we frequently seem to enjoy unhappiness?
One day a word, a flush, a glance, made me shudder; another day, another
glance, another word, threw me into uncertainty. Why are they both so
sad? Why am I as motionless as a statue where I had formerly been
violent? Every evening I sat on my bed and said to myself: "Let me see;
let me think that over.


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