It was not a week
since she had been there and it looked all unchanged; the sun
was shining again after the last few days, and filling the air
with summer heat and radiance; the grapes were ripening on the
wall; the bees humming among the flowers; Jeanne-Marie's pots
and pans stood in the kitchen window. How quiet, and sunny,
and familiar it looked! Madelon half expected to find her
chair set in the old shady corner, to see Jeanne-Marie's face
appearing through the screen of vine-leaves at the open
window, to hear her voice calling to her to leave her work,
and come and help her make the soup! Ah no, it was not all
unchanged; was there indeed anything the same as in the old
days that already seemed such ages distant, the old time gone
for ever? With a sudden pang, Madelon turned away, and went
quickly up the outside staircase, all overgrown with unpruned
sprays and tendrils, into the room she had occupied for so
many weeks. How happy she had been there! what dreams she had
dreamed! what hopes she had cherished! what visions she had
indulged in! Where were they all now? Where was that golden
future to which she had so confidently looked forward, for
which she had worked, and striven, and ventured all? She knelt
down by the bed, flinging her arms out over the coarse blue
counterpane.
Pages:
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480