Uncle Silas J. Sheridan Le Fanu (good books to read for beginners .TXT) đ
- Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu
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Manâs estimate of woman is higher than womanâs own. Perhaps in their relations to men they are generally more trustworthyâ âperhaps womanâs is the juster, and the other an appointed illusion. I donât know; but so it is ordained.
Mrs. Rusk was recalled, and I saw, as you are aware, Madameâs procedure during the interview.
It was a great battleâ âa great victory. Madame was in high spirits. The air was sweetâ âthe landscape charmingâ âI, so goodâ âeverything so beautiful! Where should we go? this way?
I had made a resolution to speak as little as possible to Madame, I was so incensed at the treachery I had witnessed; but such resolutions do not last long with very young people, and by the time we had reached the skirts of the wood we were talking pretty much as usual.
âI donât wish to go into the wood, Madame.â
âAnd for what?â
âPoor mamma is buried there.â
âIs there the vault?â demanded Madame eagerly.
I assented.
âMy faith, curious reason; you say because poor mamma is buried there you will not approach! Why, cheaile, what would good Monsieur Ruthyn say if he heard such thing? You are surely not so unkainâ, and I am with you. Allons. Let us comeâ âeven a little part of the way.â
And so I yielded, though still reluctant.
There was a grass-grown road, which we easily reached, leading to the sombre building, and we soon arrived before it.
Madame de la Rougierre seemed rather curious. She sat down on the little bank opposite, in her most languid poseâ âher head leaned upon the tips of her fingers.
âHow very sadâ âhow solemn!â murmured Madame. âWhat noble tomb! How triste, my dear cheaile, your visit âere must it be, remembering a so sweet maman. There is new inscriptionâ âis it not new?â And so, indeed, it seemed.
âI am fatigueâ âmaybe you will read it aloud to me slowly and solemnly, my dearest Maud?â
As I approached, I happened to look, I canât tell why, suddenly, over my shoulder; I was startled, for Madame was grimacing after me with a vile derisive distortion. She pretended to be seized with a fit of coughing. But it would not do: she saw that I had detected her, and she laughed aloud.
âCome here, dear cheaile. I was just reflecting how foolish is all this thingâ âthe tombâ âthe epitaph. I think I would âav noneâ âno, no epitaph. We regard them first for the oracle of the dead, and find them after only the folly of the living. So I despise. Do you think your house of Knowl down there is what you call haunt, my dear?â
âWhy?â said I, flushing and growing pale again. I felt quite afraid of Madame, and confounded at the suddenness of all this.
âBecause Anne Wixted she says there is ghost. How dark is this place! and so many of the Ruthyn family they are buried hereâ âis not so? How high and thick are the trees all round! and nobody comes near.â
And Madame rolled her eyes awfully, as if she expected to see something unearthly, and, indeed, looked very like it herself.
âCome away, Madame,â I said, growing frightened, and feeling that if I were once, by any accident, to give way to the panic that was gathering round me, I should instantaneously lose all control of myself. âOh, come away! do, Madameâ âIâm frightened.â
âNo, on the contrary, sit here by me. It is very odd, you will think, ma chĂȘreâ âun goĂ»t bizarre, vraiment!â âbut I love very much to be near to the dead peopleâ âin solitary place like this. I am not afraid of the dead people, nor of the ghosts. âAv you ever see a ghost, my dear?â
âDo, Madame, pray speak of something else.â
âWat little fool! But no, you are not afraid. I âav seen the ghosts myself. I saw one, for example, last night, shape like a monkey, sitting in the corner, with his arms round his knees; very wicked, old, old man his face was like, and white eyes so large.â
âCome away, Madame! you are trying to frighten me,â I said, in the childish anger which accompanies fear. Madame laughed an ugly laugh, and saidâ â
âEh, bien! little fool!â âI will not tell the rest if you are really frightened; let us change to something else.â
âYes, yes! oh, doâ âpray do.â
âWat good man is your father!â
âVeryâ âthe kindest darling. I donât know why it is, Madame, I am so afraid of him, and never could tell him how much I love him.â
This confidential talking with Madame, strange to say, implied no confidence; it resulted from fearâ âit was deprecatory. I treated her as if she had human sympathies, in the hope that they might be generated somehow.
âWas there not a doctor from London with him a few months ago? Dr. Bryerly, I think they call him.â
âYes, a Doctor Bryerly, who remained a few days. Shall we begin to walk towards home, Madame? Do, pray.â
âImmediately, cheaile; and does your father suffer much?â
âNoâ âI think not.â
âAnd what then is his disease?â
âDisease! he has no disease. Have you heard anything about his health, Madame?â I said, anxiously.
âOh no, ma foiâ âI have heard nothing; but if the doctor came, it was not because he was quite well.â
âBut that doctor is a doctor in theology, I fancy. I know he is a Swedenborgian; and papa is so well he could not have come as a physician.â
âI am very glad, ma chĂšre, to hear; but still you know your father is old man to have so young cheaile as you. Oh, yesâ âhe is old man, and so uncertain life is. âAs he made his will, my dear? Every man so rich as he, especially so old, aught to âav made his will.â
âThere is no need of haste, Madame; it is quite
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