Belle-Rose — page 106: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

io * — < . “4g ~ o % * - 4 . <¥ 5 a le * ‘ \ i » . “ ~ P - * } 4 ’ ‘ ¢ < - l or ; > » 7 - * oe - THE DREAMS OF A SUMMER DAY. 95 evieve in a pavilion built upon the edge of the park. Madame de Chateaufort, half suffocated, had recognized Belle-Rose just as the demolished door gave him passage. The soldier’s name died upon her lips, she wrapped her arms around Belle-Rose’s neck and closed her eyes, intox- icated with love and fright. This fantastic trip in the midst of the flames and the sinister noises.of the fire, while she was supported upon Belle-Rose’s heart, fascin- ' ated her. When Belle-Rose had laid her upon the sofa, he ‘knelt down near her, and taking both her hands‘in his, he covered them with tears and kisses. ‘Living! oh, my God, living!’’ he exclaimed. Madame de Chateaufort opened her eyes; her dream was over. Belle-Rose parted Madame de Chateaufort’s floating hair, took her head between his hands, gazing at her with eyes aflame under tears, and, pale with love, = kissed her on the forehead. Madame de Chateaufort shiv- ~ ered from head to feet; her eyes closed, and her lips re- turned Belle-Rose’s kiss: The soldier started to his feet, tottering like a wounded man. ‘*You are saved,’’ said he; ‘‘let me go away.’’ Genevieve started up with a bound. ‘*Go! you speak of going?’’ she exclaimed. ‘*Eh! madame, let it be to-day or to-morrow, is it not necessary for me to leave you?’’ The light of the fire half dissipated the obscurity of the pavilion; Madame de Chateaufort, beautiful with terror, drew round her form the floating folds of her dress; over her naked shoulders streamed the brown tresses of her long hair, fever and fright were painted in her gaze, an- guish and prayer upon her face. Never had she appeared so charming to the eyes of Belle-Rose; the doubtful light which surrounded her heightened the divine expression of her beauty. Vainly repressed, the passion of the soldier burst forth in a cry. ‘*You see that I love you! let me leave!”’ said he. _ Genevieve fell back upon the sofa, overwhelmed with joy. | ‘*Had you not guessed it, madame?’’ said Belle-Rose; ‘‘I love you with the passion of a madman and the fright of a child. But whatam Ito you? A poor soldier picked up on the highway, a fugitive, a deserter to whom your pity has offered an exile. And this soldier loves you—you who are beautiful, rich, powerful, honored; you are a duchess of the king’s court. I have forgotten everything, madame, what I am and what you are, and I dare tell you of it! In EOMmiGcboo gs) (E (6)