A Parisian Romance — page 217: what you’re looking at

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

208 A PARISIAN ROMANCE. In this garden, one afternoon early in October, sat, in a low reclining chair, Madame de Targy, who, with her son, had come to Asnieres a few days before to pay her good friend, the doctor, a long- promised visit. Her book had slipped from her hands, and, with half-closed eyes, she was enjoying to the full the luxury of absolute idleness. After all the trouble that had come to her during the last year, it was unspeakable comfort to be able to rest in this quiet, peaceful spot. The first few weeks after Marcelle’s flight had been terrible ones. The first outbreak of shame and anguish passed, Henri had absolutely forbidden all mention of his wife’s name. Then had come the news of the ship- wreck of the Fulton. At that time, Madame de Targy, in spite of her son’s prohibition, had at- tempted some words of consolation, but she had been tenderly, but firmly silenced. “Mother,” he said, “leave me to bear my burden alone. Some day I may be able to talk with you, but not now.” Uncomplainingly, but pale and silent, he went about his work as usual, and the mother’s heart had ached, as she had felt how powerless she was to comfort him. Of late, however, he had seemed a little more cheerful, and Madame de Targy was beginning to feel that there might be happy days in store for them still. To-day, Henri, who had received a fortnight’s vacation from the bank, where he still retained his. =}