The Eight Strokes of the Clock Maurice Leblanc (android e book reader .txt) đ
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
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âIt seems as if there was somebody there,â said Hortense. âDidnât I hear the sound of a window?â
âListen.â
Someone struck a few chords on a piano. Then a voice arose, a womanâs voice softly and solemnly singing a ballad that thrilled with restrained passion. The womanâs whole soul seemed to breathe itself into the melodious notes.
They walked on. The wall concealed them from view, but they saw a sitting-room furnished with bright wallpaper and a blue Roman carpet. The throbbing voice ceased. The piano ended with a last chord; and the singer rose and appeared framed in the window.
âRose AndrĂ©e!â whispered Hortense.
âWell!â said RĂ©nine, admitting his astonishment. âThis is the last thing that I expected! Rose AndrĂ©e! Rose AndrĂ©e at liberty! And singing Massenet in the sitting room of her cottage!â
âWhat does it all mean? Do you understand?â
âYes, but it has taken me long enough! But how could we have guessedâ ââ âŠâ?â
Although they had never seen her except on the screen, they had not the least doubt that this was she. It was really Rose Andrée, or rather, the Happy Princess, whom they had admired a few days before, amidst the furniture of that very sitting-room or on the threshold of that very cottage. She was wearing the same dress; her hair was done in the same way; she had on the same bangles and necklaces as in The Happy Princess; and her lovely face, with its rosy cheeks and laughing eyes, bore the same look of joy and serenity.
Some sound must have caught her ear, for she leant over towards a clump of shrubs beside the cottage and whispered into the silent garden:
âGeorgesâ ââ ⊠Georgesâ ââ ⊠Is that you, my darling?â
Receiving no reply, she drew herself up and stood smiling at the happy thoughts that seemed to flood her being.
But a door opened at the back of the room and an old peasant woman entered with a tray laden with bread, butter and milk:
âHere, Rose, my pretty one, Iâve brought you your supper. Milk fresh from the cow.â ââ âŠâ
And, putting down the tray, she continued:
âArenât you afraid, Rose, of the chill of the night air? Perhaps youâre expecting your sweetheart?â
âI havenât a sweetheart, my dear old Catherine.â
âWhat next!â said the old woman, laughing. âOnly this morning there were footprints under the window that didnât look at all proper!â
âA burglarâs footprints perhaps, Catherine.â
âWell, I donât say they werenât, Rose dear, especially as in your calling you have a lot of people round you whom itâs well to be careful of. For instance, your friend DalbrĂšque, eh? Nice goings on his are! You saw the paper yesterday. A fellow who has robbed and murdered people and carried off a woman at Le Havreâ ââ âŠâ!â
Hortense and Rénine would have much liked to know what Rose Andrée thought of the revelations, but she had turned her back to them and was sitting at her supper; and the window was now closed, so that they could neither hear her reply nor see the expression of her features.
They waited for a moment. Hortense was listening with an anxious face. But RĂ©nine began to laugh:
âVery funny, really funny! And such an unexpected ending! And we who were hunting for her in some cave or damp cellar, a horrible tomb where the poor thing was dying of hunger! Itâs a fact, she knew the terrors of that first night of captivity; and I maintain that, on that first night, she was flung, half-dead, into the cave. Only, there you are: the next morning she was alive! One night was enough to tame the little rogue and to make DalbrĂšque as handsome as Prince Charming in her eyes! For see the difference. On the films or in novels, the Happy Princesses resist or commit suicide. But in real lifeâ ââ ⊠oh, woman, woman!â
âYes,â said Hortense, âbut the man she loves is almost certainly dead.â
âAnd a good thing too! It would be the best solution. What would be the outcome of this criminal love for a thief and murderer?â
A few minutes passed. Then, amid the peaceful silence of the waning day, mingled with the first shadows of the twilight, they again heard the grating of the window, which was cautiously opened. Rose Andrée leant over the garden and waited, with her eyes turned to the wall, as though she saw something there.
Presently, RĂ©nine shook the ivy-branches.
âAh!â she said. âThis time I know youâre there! Yes, the ivyâs moving. Georges, Georges darling, why do you keep me waiting? Catherine has gone. I am all alone.â ââ âŠâ
She had knelt down and was distractedly stretching out her shapely arms covered with bangles which clashed with a metallic sound:
âGeorges!â ââ ⊠Georges!â ââ âŠâ
Her every movement, the thrill of her voice, her whole being expressed desire and love. Hortense, deeply touched, could not help saying:
âHow the poor thing loves him! If she but knew.â ââ âŠâ
âAh!â cried the girl. âYouâve spoken. Youâre there, and you want me to come to you, donât you? Here I am, Georges!â ââ âŠâ
She climbed over the window-ledge and began to run, while RĂ©nine went round the wall and advanced to meet her.
She stopped short in front of him and stood choking at the sight of this man and woman whom she did not know and who were stepping out of the very shadow from which her beloved appeared to her each night.
RĂ©nine bowed, gave his name and introduced his companion:
âMadame Hortense Daniel, a pupil and friend of your motherâs.â
Still motionless with stupefaction, her features drawn, she stammered:
âYou know who I am?â ââ ⊠And you were there just now?â ââ ⊠You heard what I was sayingâ ââ âŠâ?â
RĂ©nine, without hesitating or pausing in his speech, said:
âYou are Rose AndrĂ©e, the Happy Princess. We saw you on the films the other evening; and circumstances led us to set out in search of youâ ââ ⊠to Le Havre, where you were abducted on the day when you were to have left for America, and to the forest of Brotonne, where you were imprisoned.â
She protested eagerly, with a forced laugh:
âWhat is
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