Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. "The Minister of Public Instruction and Mme. She tore the paper sharply, and drew out a printed card which bore these words: "There," said he, "here is something for you." She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go and see any more, because she suffered so much when she came back.īut, one evening, her husband returned home with a triumphant air, and holding a large envelope in his hand. She would so have liked to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after. And she loved nothing but that she felt made for that. Pot-au-feu! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry which peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates, and of the whispered gallantries which you listen to with a sphinx-like smile, while you are eating the pink flesh of a trout or the wings of a quail. When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth three days old, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with an enchanted air, "Ah, the good She thought of the longįatted up with ancient silk, of the delicate furniture carrying priceless curiosities, and of the coquettish perfumed boudoirs made for talks at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire. She thought of the silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, lit by tall bronze candelabra, and of the two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the heavy warmth of the hot-air stove. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her regrets which were despairing, and distracted dreams. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. She suffered from the poverty of her dwelling, from the wretched look of the walls, from the worn-out chairs, from the ugliness of the curtains. She suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born for all the delicacies and all the luxuries. Natural fineness, instinct for what is elegant, suppleness of wit, are the sole hierarchy, and make from women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies. She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was as unhappy as though she had really fallen from her proper station since with women there is neither caste nor rank and beauty, grace, and charm act instead of family and birth. She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, wedded, by any rich and distinguished man and she let herself be married to a little clerk at the Ministry of Public Instruction. She was one of those pretty and charming girls who are sometimes, as if by a mistake of destiny, born in a family of clerks. JEAN FRANCOIS MARIE AROUET DE VOLTAIRE (1694-1778).įrench-Italian-Spanish-Latin Mystery Stories HENRI RENÉ ALBERT GUY DE MAUPASSANT (1850-93). "Through a Mist in the Depths of the Looking-Glass." Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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