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Led Astray and The Sphinx - Two Novellas In One Volume by Octave Feuillet
page 91 of 209 (43%)
I had placed myself close to her; she had a consuming fever, her eyes
glistened. I begged her to consent to take the absolute rest which was
alone suitable to her condition.

"What is the use?" she replied. "I am not ill. It is not the fever that is
killing me, nor the cold, it is the thought that is burning me
there;"--she touched her forehead--"it is shame--it is your scorn and your
hatred; now, alas! but too well deserved!"

My heart overflowed then, Paul; I told her everything; my passion, my
regrets, my remorse! I covered with kisses her trembling hands, her cold
forehead, her damp hair. I poured into her poor shattered soul all the
tenderness, all the pity, all the adoration a man's soul can contain! She
knew now that I loved her; she could not doubt it!

She listened to me with rapture. "Now," she said, "now, I am no longer to
be pitied. I have never been so happy in all my life. I did not deserve
it--I have nothing further to wish--nothing further to hope--I shall not
regret anything."

She fell into a slumber. Her parted lips are smiling a pure and placid
smile; but she is taken at intervals with terrible spasms, and her
features are becoming terribly altered. I am watching her while writing
these lines.

* * * * *

Madame de Malouet has just arrived with her husband. I had judged her
rightly! Her voice and her words were those of a mother. She had taken
care to bring her physician. The patient is lying in a comfortable bed,
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