What do you want?"
"I wish I was dead!" she replies.
"Quite a merry and agreeable wish!"
"It isn't death that frightens me, it's suffering."
"I suppose that means that I don't make you happy! That's the way with
women!"
Adolphe strides about the room, talking incoherently: but
is
brought to a dead halt by seeing Caroline dry her tears, which are
really flowing artistically, in
SmallBathroomRemodel
embroidered handkerchief.] I only hope that I shall live long
enough to see my daughter married, for I know the meaning, now, of the
expression so little understood by the young--/the choice of a
husband/! Go to your amusements, Adolphe: a woman who thinks of the
future, a woman who suffers, is not at
SmallBathroomRemodel
diverting: come, go and
have a good time.
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I don't feel anything. There, leave me to myself."
This time, being the first, Adolphe goes away almost sad.
A week passes, during which Caroline orders all the servants to
conceal from her husband her deplorable situation: she languishes, she
rings when she feels she is going off, she uses a great deal of ether.
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The domestics finally acquaint their master with madame's conjugal
heroism, and Adolphe remains at home one evening after dinner, and
sees his wife passionately kissing her little Marie. Death doesn't frighten me--I saw a funeral this
morning, and I thought how happy the body was! How comes it that I
think of
but death? Is it a disease? I have an idea that I
shall die by my own hand. |
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"
The more Adolphe tries to SmallBathroomRemodel Caroline, the more closely she wraps
herself up in the crape of her hopeless melancholy. This second time,
Adolphe stays at home and is wearied to SmallBathroomRemodel. At the third attack of
forced tears, he goes out without the slightest compunction. He
finally gets accustomed to these everlasting murmurs, to
SmallBathroomRemodel
dying
postures, these crocodile tears. But bring a famous one, if
you bring any."
At the end of a month, Adolphe, worn out by hearing the funereal air
that Caroline plays him on
possible key, brings home a famous
doctor. At Paris, doctors are SmallBathroomRemodel men of discernment, and are
admirably versed in conjugal nosography.
"Well, madame," says the great physician, "how happens it that so
pretty a woman allows herself to be sick?"
"Ah! sir, like the nose of old father Aubry, I aspire to the tomb--"
Caroline, out of consideration for Adolphe, makes a feeble effort to
smile.
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"Tut, tut! But your eyes are clear: they don't seem to need our
infernal drugs."
"Look again, doctor, I am eaten up with SmallBathroomRemodel, a slow, imperceptible
fever--"
And she fastens her most roguish glance upon the illustrious doctor,
who says to himself, "What eyes!"
"Now, let me see your tongue."
Caroline puts out her taper tongue between two rows of SmallBathroomRemodel as SmallBathroomRemodel
as those of a dog.
"It is SmallBathroomRemodel little bit furred at the root: but you have breakfasted--"
observes the great physician, turning toward Adolphe.
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