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Bernhardt, Sarah, 1845-1923

"The Idol of Paris"

Even if the Duke did not
love me, I should still be uplifted by my own love."
She sat down beside her father.
"Who knows what unhappiness may not be lurking for me, ready to spring
at any moment?"
She drew near him shivering.
Francois took her charming head in his hands. He looked at her
tenderly, but with an expression almost of terror in his face.
"Alas! all happiness built upon the unhappiness of others always risks
disillusionment--and collapse."
"Dear father, my life has been bathed in such sunlight for the last
three days, that I shall keep that glow of warmth for the rest of my
life."
"I only ask, you little daughter, to do nothing, to say nothing,
before the end of this fete. We have no right, however grave our
personal troubles and responsibilities are, to betray the hospitality
of the Duchess. To-morrow, after the fete, I will talk to Albert. Go,
my darling, go back to that poor boy. I hate to send you to practice a
dissimulation that I abhor, but we are in a situation of such delicacy
and difficulty.... God keep you!"
He kissed her tenderly. She went back to her fiance, to find to her
surprise that the Countess de Morgueil had just passed by with him.
Maurice pointed them out where they were walking slowly in the
distance.
"Oh! so much the better," said Esperance. "That gives me an excuse to
go to my room."
Maurice urged her to wait. "I am convinced that that woman is meddling
in our affairs.


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