Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
In the words, in the tones in which she uttered them, there lay a world of thanks, not only for herself, but for her child.
With singular delicacy, entirely in keeping with his chivalric nature, Morgan, instead of picking up his fallen mask and covering his face immediately, so that Madame de Montrevel could only have retained a fleeting and confused impression of it—Morgan replied to her compliment by a low bow, leaving his features uncovered long enough to produce their impression; then, placing d’Assas’ flask in Madame de Montrevel’s hand—and then only—he replaced his mask. Madame de Montrevel understood the young man’s delicacy.
“Ah! sir,” said she, “be sure that, in whatever place or situation I see you again, I shall not recognize you.”
“Then, madame,” replied Morgan, “it is for me to thank you and repeat, ‘How kind you are.’”
“Come, gentlemen, take your seats!” said the conductor, in his customary tone, as if nothing unusual had happened.
“Are you quite restored, madame, or should you like a few minutes more to rest?” asked Morgan. “The diligence shall wait.”
“No, that is quite unnecessary; I feel quite well, and am much indebted to you.”
Morgan offered Madame de Montrevel his arm, and she leaned upon it to reach the diligence. The conductor had already placed little Edouard inside. When Madame de Montrevel had resumed her seat, Morgan, who had already made his peace with the mother, wished to do so with the son.
“Without a grudge, my young hero,” he said, offering his hand.
But the boy drew back.
“I don’t give my hand to a highway robber,” he replied. Madame de Montrevel gave a start of terror.
“You have a charming boy, madame,” said Morgan; “only he has his prejudices.” Then, bowing with the utmost courtesy, he added, “A prosperous voyage, madame,” and closed the door.
“Forward!” cried the conductor.
The carriage gave a lurch.
“Oh! pardon me, sir!” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel; “your flask!”
“Keep it, madame,” said Morgan; “although I trust you are sufficiently recovered not to need it.”
But Edouard, snatching the flask from his mother’s hands, flung it out of the window, crying: “Mamma doesn’t receive presents from robbers.”
“The devil!” murmured Morgan, with the first sigh his Companions had ever heard him give. “I think I am right not to ask for my poor Amélie in marriage.” Then, turning to his Companions, he said: “Well, gentlemen, is it finished?”
“Yes,” they answered with one voice.
“Then let us mount and be off. Don’t forget we have to be at the Opera at nine o’clock this evening.”
Springing into his saddle, he was the first to jump the ditch, reach the river, and there unhesitatingly took the ford which the pretended courier had pointed out on Cassini’s map.
When he reached the opposite bank, followed by the other young men, d’Assas said to him: “Say, didn’t your mask falloff?”
“Yes; but no one saw my face but Madame de Montrevel.”
“Hum!” muttered d’Assas. “Better no one had seen it.”
Putting their horses to a gallop, all four disappeared across the fields in the direction of Chacource.
CHAPTER XXX. CITIZEN FOUCHÉ’S REPORT
On arriving the next day, toward eleven in the morning, at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, Madame de Montrevel was astonished to find, instead of Roland, a stranger awaiting her. The stranger approached her.
“Are you the widow of General de Montrevel, madame?” he asked.
“Yes, monsieur,” replied Madame de Montrevel, not a little astonished.
“And you are looking for your son?”
“Yes; and I do not understand, after the letter he wrote me—”
“Man proposes, the First Consul disposes,” replied the stranger, laughing. “The First Consul has disposed of your son for a few days, and has sent me to receive you in his stead.”
Madame de Montrevel bowed.
“To whom have I the honor of speaking?” she asked.
“To citizen Fauvelet de Bourrienne, his first secretary,” replied the stranger.
“Will you thank the First Consul for me,” replied Madame de Montrevel, “and have the kindness to express to him the profound regret I feel at not being able to do so myself?”
“But nothing can be more easy, madame.”
“How so?”
“The First Consul has ordered me to bring you to the Luxembourg.”
“Me?”
“You and your son.”
“Oh! I am going to see General Bonaparte; I am going to see General Bonaparte!” cried the child, jumping for joy and clapping his hands. “What happiness!”
“Edouard, Edouard!” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel. Then, turning to Bourrienne, “You must excuse him, sir; he is a little savage from the Jura Mountains.”
Bourrienne held out his hand to the boy.
“I am a friend of your brother’s,” said he. “Will you kiss me?”
“Oh! willingly, sir,” replied Edouard. “You are not a thief, I know.”
“Why, no; I trust not,” replied the secretary, laughing.
“You must excuse him once again, sir. Our diligence was stopped on the way.”
“Stopped?”
“Yes.”
“By robbers?”
“Not exactly.”
“Monsieur,” asked Edouard, “when people take other people’s money, are they not thieves?”
“That is what they are generally called, my dear child.”
“There, you see, mamma.”
“Come, Edouard, be quiet, I beg of you.”
Bourrienne glanced at Madame de Montrevel, and saw clearly from the expression of her
Comments (0)