"He cannot prevent your coming to see your cousin; I will arrange
with her that we have speech with each other. My dear old boy,
write me just a line, pray, to comfort me in the absence of your
dear self. (Oh, I would give one of my hands to have you by me on
our sofa!) A letter will work like a charm; write me something
full of your noble soul; I will return your note to you, for I
must be cautious; I should not know where to hide it, he pokes his
nose in everywhere. In short, comfort your Valerie, your little
wife, the mother of your child.--To think of my having to write to
you, when I used to see you every day. As I say to Lisbeth, 'I did
not know how happy I was.' A thousand kisses, dear boy. Be true to
your
"VALERIE."
"And tears!" said Hulot to himself as he finished this letter, "tears
which have blotted out her name.--How is she?" said he to Reine.
"Madame is in bed; she has dreadful spasms," replied Reine. "She had a
fit of hysterics that twisted her like a withy round a faggot. It came
on after writing. It comes of crying so much. She heard monsieur's
voice on the stairs."
The Baron in his distress wrote the following note on office paper
with a printed heading:--
"Be quite easy, my angel, he will die a second-class clerk!--Your
idea is admirable; we will go and live far from Paris, where we
shall be happy with our little Hector; I will retire on my
pension, and I shall be sure to find some good appointment on a
railway.
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