Episode under the Terror , livre ebook

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. On the 22nd of January, 1793, towards eight o'clock in the evening, an old lady came down the steep street that comes to an end opposite the Church of Saint Laurent in the Faubourg Saint Martin. It had snowed so heavily all day long that the lady's footsteps were scarcely audible; the streets were deserted, and a feeling of dread, not unnatural amid the silence, was further increased by the whole extent of the Terror beneath which France was groaning in those days; what was more, the old lady so far had met no one by the way. Her sight had long been failing, so that the few foot passengers dispersed like shadows in the distance over the wide thoroughfare through the faubourg, were quite invisible to her by the light of the lanterns.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819932420
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Clara Bell and Others
DEDICATION
To Monsieur Guyonnet-Merville.
Is it not a necessity to explain to a public curiousto know
everything, how I came to be sufficiently learned inthe law to
carry on the business of my little world? And in sodoing, am I
not bound to put on record the memory of the amiableand
intelligent man who, meeting the Scribe (anotherclerk-amateur) at
a ball, said, "Just give the office a turn; there iswork for you
there, I assure you. " But do you need this publictestimony to
feel assured of the affection of the writer?
DE BALZAC.
AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR
On the 22nd of January, 1793, towards eight o'clockin the evening, an old lady came down the steep street that comesto an end opposite the Church of Saint Laurent in the FaubourgSaint Martin. It had snowed so heavily all day long that the lady'sfootsteps were scarcely audible; the streets were deserted, and afeeling of dread, not unnatural amid the silence, was furtherincreased by the whole extent of the Terror beneath which Francewas groaning in those days; what was more, the old lady so far hadmet no one by the way. Her sight had long been failing, so that thefew foot passengers dispersed like shadows in the distance over thewide thoroughfare through the faubourg, were quite invisible to herby the light of the lanterns.
She had passed the end of the Rue des Morts, whenshe fancied that she could hear the firm, heavy tread of a manwalking behind her. Then it seemed to her that she had heard thatsound before, and dismayed by the idea of being followed, she triedto walk faster toward a brightly lit shop window, in the hope ofverifying the suspicions which had taken hold of her mind.
So soon as she stood in the shaft of light thatstreamed out across the road, she turned her head suddenly, andcaught sight of a human figure looming through the fog. The dimvision was enough for her. For one moment she reeled beneath anoverpowering weight of dread, for she could not doubt any longerthat the man had followed her the whole way from her own door; thenthe desire to escape from the spy gave her strength. Unable tothink clearly, she walked twice as fast as before, as if it werepossible to escape from a man who of course could move much faster;and for some minutes she fled on, till, reaching a pastry-cook'sshop, she entered and sank rather than sat down upon a chair by thecounter.
A young woman busy with embroidery looked up fromher work at the rattling of the door-latch, and looked out throughthe square window-panes. She seemed to recognize the old-fashionedviolet silk mantle, for she went at once to a drawer as if insearch of something put aside for the newcomer. Not only did thismovement and the expression of the woman's face show a very evidentdesire to be rid as soon as possible of an unwelcome visitor, butshe even permitted herself an impatient exclamation when the drawerproved to be empty. Without looking at the lady, she hurried fromher desk into the back shop and called to her husband, who appearedat once.
“Wherever have you put? — — ” she beganmysteriously, glancing at the customer by way of finishing herquestion.
The pastry-cook could only see the old lady'shead-dress, a huge black silk bonnet with knots of violet ribbonround it, but he looked at his wife as if to say, “Did you think Ishould leave such a thing as that lying about in your drawer? ” andthen vanished.
The old lady kept so still and silent that theshopkeeper's wife was surprised. She went back to her, and on anearer view a sudden impulse of pity, blended perhaps withcuriosity, got the better of her. The old lady's face was naturallypale; she looked as though she secretly practised austerities; butit was easy to see that she was paler than usual from recentagitation of some kind. Her head-dress was so arranged as to almosthide hair that was white, no doubt with age, for there was not atrace of powder on the collar of her dress. The extreme plainnessof her dress lent an air of austerity to her face, and her featureswere proud and grave. The manners and habits of people of conditionwere so different from those of other classes in former times thata noble was easily known, and the shopkeeper's wife felt persuadedthat her customer was a ci-devant , and that she had beenabout the Court.
“Madame, ” she began with involuntary respect,forgetting that the title was proscribed.
But the old lady made no answer. She was staringfixedly at the shop windows as though some dreadful thing had takenshape against the panes.

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