Червоне та чорне

Exit Julien

           

           "Whoknows?Perhapswehavestillsomesensationsafterourdeath,"hehadsaidonedaytoFouqué."Ishouldliketorest,forrestistherightword,inthatlittlegrottointhegreatmountainwhichdominatesVerrières.Manyatime,asIhavetoldyou,Ihavespentthenightaloneinthatgrotto,andasmygazewouldplungefarandwideovertherichestprovincesofFrance,ambitionwouldinflamemyheart.Inthosedaysitwasmypassion....Anyway,Iholdthatgrottodear,andonecannotdisputethatitssituationmightwellarousethedesiresofthephilosopher’ssoul....Well,youknow!thosegoodpriestsofBesançonwillmakemoneyoutofeverything.Ifyouknowhowtomanageit,theywillsellyoumymortalremains."

           Fouquésucceededinthismelancholybusiness.Hewaspassingthenightaloneinhisroombyhisfriend’sbodywhen,tohisgreatsurprise,hesawMathildecomein.AfewhoursbeforehehadlefthertenleaguesfromBesançon.Herfaceandeyeslookeddistraught.

           "Iwanttoseehim,"shesaid.

           Fouquéhadnotthecourageeithertospeakorgetup.Hepointedwithhisfingertoabigbluecloakonthefloor;therewaswrappedinitallthatremainedofJulien.

           Shethrewherselfonherknees.ThememoryofBonifacedelaMole,andofMargueriteofNavarregaveher,nodoubt,asuperhumancourage.Hertremblinghandsundidthecloak.Fouquéturnedawayhiseyes.

           HeheardMathildewalkingfeverishlyabouttheroom.Shelitseveralcandles.WhenFouquécouldbringhimselftolookather,shehadplacedJulien’sheadonalittlemarbletableinfrontofher,andwaskissingitontheforehead

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