Short stories of the tragedy and comedy of life with a critical preface . ust be done for her, whather diet must be, and then wrote a prescription. What was 1 to Could 1 send the poorcreature to the hospital? I should have been lookedupon as a brute in the house and in all the neighbor-hood. So I kept her in my rooms, and she had mybed for six weeks. I sent the child to some peasants at Poissy tobe taken care of, and she still costs me fifty francs *a month, for as I had paid at first, I shall be obligedto go on paying as long as I live. Later on, shewill believe that I am her father. But
Short stories of the tragedy and comedy of life with a critical preface . ust be done for her, whather diet must be, and then wrote a prescription. What was 1 to Could 1 send the poorcreature to the hospital? I should have been lookedupon as a brute in the house and in all the neighbor-hood. So I kept her in my rooms, and she had mybed for six weeks. I sent the child to some peasants at Poissy tobe taken care of, and she still costs me fifty francs *a month, for as I had paid at first, I shall be obligedto go on paying as long as I live. Later on, shewill believe that I am her father. But to crown mymisfortunes, when the girl had recovered, I foundthat she was in love with me, madly in love withme, the baggage! Well, she had grown as thin as a homeless cat,and I turned the skeleton out of doors. But shewatches for me in the streets, hides herself, so thatshe may see me pass, stops me in the evening whenI go out, in order to kiss my hand, and, in fact,worries me enough to drive me mad. That is why 1never keep Christmas eve now. $10. THE AWAKENING. URiNG the three years that she hadbeen married, she had not left theVal de Cire, where her husbandpossessed two cotton-mills. She leda quiet life, and, although withoutchildren, she was quite happy in herhouse among the trees, which thework-people called the **chateau. Although Monsieur Vasseur was con-siderably older than she was, he wasvery kind. She loved him, and no guilty^^ thought had ever entered her mind.^ Her mother came and spent every summer^, at Cire, and then returned to Paris for the win-^ ter, as soon as the leaves began to coughed a little every autumn, for the nar-row valley through which the river wound was veryfoggy for five months in the year. First of all,slight mists hung over the meadows, making all thelow-lying ground look like a large pond, out ofwhich the roofs of the houses rose. Then a whitevapor, which rose like a tide, enveloped everything,turning the valley into a phant
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Keywords: ., bookauthormaupassa, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1903
