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Dullness

           Julienhadneverseenahumanbeingsowell-dressed,andaboveallhehadneverseenawomanwithsodazzlingacomplexionspeaktohimatallsoftly.MadamedeRênalobservedthebigtearswhichhadlingeredonthecheeksoftheyoungpeasant,thosecheekswhichhadbeensopaleandwerenowsopink.Soonshebegantolaughwithallthemadgaietyofayounggirl,shemadefunofherself,andwasunabletorealisetheextentofherhappiness.Sothiswasthattutorwhomshehadimaginedadirty,badlydressedpriest,whowascomingtoscoldandflogherchildren.

           "What!Monsieur,"shesaidtohimatlast,"youknowLatin?"

           Theword"Monsieur"astonishedJuliensomuchthathereflectedforamoment.

           "Yes,Madame,"hesaidtimidly.

           MadamedeRênalwassohappythatshepluckedupthecouragetosaytoJulien,"Youwillnotscoldthepoorchildrentoomuch?"

           "Iscoldthem!"saidJulieninastonishment;"whyshouldI?"

           "Youwon’t,willyou,Monsieur,"sheaddedafteralittlesilence,inasoftvoicewhoseemotionbecamemoreandmoreintense."Youwillbenicetothem,youpromiseme?"

           Tohearhimselfcalled"Monsieur"againinallseriousnessbysowelldressedaladywasbeyondallJulien’sexpectations.HehadalwayssaidtohimselfinallthecastlesofSpainthathehadbuiltinhisyouth,thatnorealladywouldevercondescendtotalktohimexceptwhenhehadafineuniform.

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