| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Collection of Antiquities by Honore de Balzac: the rest. And, finally, Chesnel knew old Blondet well enough to feel
sure that if he ever swerved from impartiality, it would be for the
sake of the work of his whole lifetime,--to secure his son's
appointment. So Chesnel slept, full of confidence, on the resolve to
go to M. Blondet and offer to realize his so long cherished hopes,
while he opened his eyes to President du Ronceret's treachery. Blondet
won over, he would take a peremptory tone with the examining
magistrate, to whom he hoped to prove that if Victurnien was not
blameless, he had been merely imprudent; the whole thing should be
shown in the light of a boy's thoughtless escapade.
But Chesnel slept neither soundly nor for long. Before dawn he was
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Collection of Antiquities by Honore de Balzac: "If the Comtesse d'Esgrignon were one du Croisier's niece, for
instance, would you receive her?" asked Chesnel.
"Perhaps," replied the Duchess; "but the King, beyond all doubt, would
be very glad to see her.--So you do not know what is going on in the
world?" continued she, seeing the amazement in their faces.
"Victurnien has been in Paris; he knows how things go there. We had
more influence under Napoleon. Marry Mlle. Duval, Victurnien; she will
be just as much Marquise d'Esgrignon as I am Duchesse de
Maufrigneuse."
"All is lost--even honor!" said the Chevalier, with a wave of the
hand.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Margret Howth: A Story of To-day by Rebecca Harding Davis: the russet gold of the sunshine mottled only the hill-tops now;
in the valleys there was a duskier brown, deepening every moment.
Margret turned from the road, and went down the fields. One did
not wonder, feeling the silence of these hills and broad sweeps
of meadow, that this woman, coming down from among them, should
be strangely still, with dark questioning eyes dumb to their own
secrets.
Looking into her face now, you could be sure of one thing: that
she had left the town, the factory, the dust far away, shaken the
thought of them off her brain. No miles could measure the
distance between her home and them. At a stile across the field
Margret Howth: A Story of To-day |
