"What was that?" asked the capitaine in a hoarse voice. He made his
way half across the little garden, and he also was within forty or
fifty yards of the flat rock. But Adolphe was unable to answer him.
He had fainted and the lamp had fallen from his hands and rolled to
the bottom of the steps.
But the capitaine, though even his heart was all but quenched within
him, had still strength enough to make his way up to the rock; and
there, holding the lantern above his eyes, he saw all that was left
for him to see of his bride.
As for La Mere Bauche, she never again sat at the head of that
table,--never again dictated to guests,--never again laid down laws
for the management of any one. A poor bedridden old woman, she lay
there in her house at Vernet for some seven tedious years, and then
was gathered to her fathers.
As for the capitaine--but what matters? He was made of sterner
stuff. What matters either the fate of such a one as Adolphe Bauche?
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of La Mere Bauche, by Anthony Trollope
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65