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The World's Greatest Books — Volume 01 — Fiction by Various
page 273 of 407 (67%)

"Are you so absorbed in your work, Balthazar?" said Josephine. "It is
thirty-three Sundays since you have been either to vespers or mass."

"Vespers?" he questioned, vaguely. Then added: "Ah, the children have
been to church," and walked to the window and looked at the tulips. As
he stood there, he said to himself: "But yes, why shouldn't they combine
in a given time?"

His poor wife asked herself in despair, "Is he going mad?" Then, rousing
herself, she called him by his name. Without paying heed to her he
coughed and went to one of the spittoons beside the wainscot.

"Monsieur, I speak to you!"

"What of that?" he demanded, turning swiftly. She became deadly white.

"Forgive me, dear," she whispered, and cried: "Ah, this is killing me!"

Tears in her eyes roused Claes out of his reverie. He took her into his
arms, pushed open a door, and sprang lightly up the staircase. Finding
the door of her apartment locked, he laid her gently in an armchair.

"Thank you, dear," she murmured. "I have not been so near your heart for
a long time."

Her loveliness postponed disaster. Enamoured by her beauty, rescued to
humanity, Claes returned for a brief interval to the family life, and
was adorable to his wife, charming to his children. When they were alone
together, Josephine questioned him as to his secret work, telling him
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