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"I'll go to the poorhouse until I can do bettetron address pancakeswapr," she replied wearily. "Now, if you please, I'll return to my cell where I can be alone."

"What elsprice prediction of trone should it be?" said she.And with these words this Spartan girl was her sister's championonce more against all comers, friend or foe.

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Chapter 16Dr. Aubertin received one day a note from a publishing bookseller,to inquire whether he still thought of giving the world his valuablework on insects. The doctor was amazed. "My valuable work! Why,Rose, they all refused it, and this person in particular recoiledfrom it as if my insects could sting on paper."The above led to a correspondence, in which the convert to insectsexplained that the work must be published at the author's expense,the publisher contenting himself with the profits. The author,thirsting for the public, consented. Then the publisher wrote againto say that the immortal treatise must be spiced; a little politicsflung in: "Nothing goes down, else." The author answered in someheat that he would not dilute things everlasting with the fleetingtopics of the day, nor defile science with politics. On this hisMentor smoothed him down, despising him secretly for not seeing thata book is a matter of trade and nothing else. It ended in Aubertingoing to Paris to hatch his Phoenix. He had not been there a week,when a small deputation called on him, and informed him he had beenelected honorary member of a certain scientific society. Thecompliment was followed by others, till at last certain ladies, withthe pliancy of their sex, find out they had always secretly caredfor butterflies. Then the naturalist smelt a rat, or, in otherwords, began to scent that entomology, a form of idiocy in a poorman, is a graceful decoration of the intellect in a rich one.Philosopher without bile, he saw through this, and let it amuse, notshock him. His own species, a singularly interesting one in myopinion, had another trait in reserve for him.He took a world of trouble to find out the circumstances of hisnephew's nephews and nieces: then he made arrangements fordistributing a large part of his legacy among them. His intentionsand the proportions of his generosity transpired.Hitherto they had been silent, but now they all fell-to and abusedhim: each looking only to the amount of his individual share, not atthe sum total the doctor was giving way to an ungrateful lot.

The donor was greatly amused, and noted down the incident and someof the remarks in his commonplace book, under the general head of"Bestiarium;" and the particular head of "Homo."Paris with its seductions netted the good doctor, and held him twoor three months; would have detained him longer, but for alarmingaccounts the baroness sent of Josephine's health. These determinedhim to return to Beaurepaire; and, must I own it, the announcementwas no longer hailed at Beaurepaire with universal joy asheretofore.Josephine Raynal, late Dujardin, is by this time no stranger to myintelligent reader. I wish him to bring his knowledge of hercharacter and her sensibility to my aid. Imagine, as the wearyhours and days and weeks roll over her head, what this loving womanfeels for her lover whom she has dismissed; what this grateful wifefeels for the benefactor she has unwittingly wronged; but will neverwrong with her eyes open; what this lady pure as snow, and proud asfire, feels at the seeming frailty into which a cruel combination ofcircumstances has entrapped her."My child under this roof! What have you done?" but her eye,fascinated and fixed, never left the cradle.

"I saw you languishing, dying, for want of him.""Oh, if anybody should come?" But her eye never stirred an inchfrom the cradle."No, no, no! the door is locked. Jacintha watches below; there isno dan-- Ah, oh, poor sister!"For, as Rose was speaking, the young mother sprang silently upon herchild. You would have thought she was going to kill him; her headreared itself again and again like a crested snake's, and again andagain and again and again plunged down upon the child, and shekissed his little body from head to foot with soft violence, andmurmured, through her streaming tears, "My child! my darling! myangel! oh, my poor boy! my child! my child!"I will ask my female readers of every degree to tell their brothersand husbands all the young noble did: how she sat on the floor, andhad her child on her bosom; how she smiled over it through hertears; how she purred over it; how she, the stately one, lisped andprattled over it; and how life came pouring into her heart from it.Before she had had it in her arms five minutes, her pale cheek wasas red as a rose, and her eyes brighter than diamonds."Bless you, Rose! bless you! bless you! in one moment you have mademe forget all I ever suffered in my life.""There is a cold draught," cried she presently, with maternalanxiety; "close the panel, Rose.""No, dear; or I could not call to Jacintha, or she to me; but I willshift the screen round between him and the draught. There, now,come to his aunt--a darling!"Then Rose sat on the floor too, and Josephine put her boy on aunt'slap, and took a distant view of him. But she could not bear so vasta separation long. She must have him to her bosom again.

Presently my lord, finding himself hugged, opened his eyes, and, asa natural consequence, his mouth."Oh, that will never do," cried Rose, and they put him back in thecradle with all expedition, and began to rock it. Young master wasnot to be altogether appeased even by that. So Rose began singingan old-fashioned Breton chant or lullaby.

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Josephine sang with her, and, singing, watched with a smile her boydrop off by degrees to sleep under the gentle motion and the lullingsong. They sang and rocked till the lids came creeping down, andhid the great blue eyes; but still they sang and rocked, lulling theboy, and gladdening their own hearts; for the quaint old Bretonditty was tunable as the lark that carols over the green wheat inApril; and the words so simple and motherly, that a nation had takenthem to heart. Such songs bind ages together and make the lofty andthe low akin by the great ties of music and the heart. Many aBreton peasant's bosom in the olden time had gushed over hersleeping boy as the young dame's of Beaurepaire gushed now--in thisquaint, tuneful lullaby.Now, as they kneeled over the cradle, one on each side, and rockedit, and sang that ancient chant, Josephine, who was opposite thescreen, happening to raise her eyes, saw a strange thing.There was the face of a man set close against the side of thescreen, and peeping and peering out of the gloom. The light of hercandle fell full on this face; it glared at her, set pale, wonder-struck, and vivid in the surrounding gloom.Horror! It was her husband's face.

At first she was quite stupefied, and looked at it with soul andsenses benumbed. Then she trembled, and put her hand to her eyes;for she thought it a phantom or a delusion of the mind. No: thereit glared still. Then she trembled violently, and held out her lefthand, the fingers working convulsively, to Rose, who was stillsinging.But, at the same moment, the mouth of this face suddenly opened in along-drawn breath. At this, Josephine uttered a violent shriek, andsprang to her feet, with her right hand quivering and pointing atthat pale face set in the dark.Rose started up, and, wheeling her head round, saw Raynal's gloomyface looking over her shoulder. She fell screaming upon her knees,and, almost out of her senses, began to pray wildly and piteouslyfor mercy.Josephine uttered one more cry, but this was the faint cry ofnature, sinking under the shock of terror. She swooned dead away,and fell senseless on the floor ere Raynal could debarrass himselfof the screen, and get to her.

This, then, was the scene that met Edouard's eyes. His affiancedbride on her knees, white as a ghost, trembling, and screaming,rather than crying, for mercy. And Raynal standing over his wife,showing by the working of his iron features that he doubted whethershe was worthy he should raise her.One would have thought nothing could add to the terror of thisscene. Yet it was added to. The baroness rang her bell violentlyin the room below. She had heard Josephine's scream and fall.

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At the ringing of this shrill bell Rose shuddered like a maniac, andgrovelled on her knees to Raynal, and seized his very knees andimplored him to show some pity."O sir! kill us! we are culpable"--Dring! dring! dring! dring! dring! pealed the baroness's bell again.

"But do not tell our mother. Oh, if you are a man! do not! do not!Show us some pity. We are but women. Mercy! mercy! mercy!""Speak out then," groaned Raynal. "What does this mean? Why has mywife swooned at sight of me?--whose is this child?""Whose?" stammered Rose. Till he said that, she never thought thereCOULD be a doubt whose child.Dring! dring! dring! dring! dring!"Oh, my God!" cried the poor girl, and her scared eyes glanced everyway like some wild creature looking for a hole, however small, toescape by.Edouard, seeing her hesitation, came down on her other side. "Whoseis the child, Rose?" said he sternly."You, too? Why were we born? mercy! oh! pray let me go to mysister."Dring! dring! dring! dring! dring! went the terrible bell.

The men were excited to fury by Rose's hesitation; they each seizedan arm, and tore her screaming with fear at their violence, from herknees up to her feet between them with a single gesture."Whose is the child?""You hurt me!" said she bitterly to Edouard, and she left crying andwas terribly calm and sullen all in a moment.

"Whose is the child?" roared Edouard and Raynal, in one ragingbreath. "Whose is the child?""It is mine."Chapter 20

These were not words; they were electric shocks.The two arms that gripped Rose's arms were paralyzed, and droppedoff them; and there was silence.

Then first the thought of all she had done with those three wordsbegan to rise and grow and surge over her. She stood, her eyesturned downwards, yet inwards, and dilating with horror.Silence.Now a mist began to spread over her eyes, and in it she sawindistinctly the figure of Raynal darting to her sister's side, andraising her head.She dared not look round on the other side. She heard feet staggeron the floor. She heard a groan, too; but not a word.

Horrible silence.With nerves strung to frenzy, and quivering ears, that magnifiedevery sound, she waited for a reproach, a curse; either would havebeen some little relief. But no! a silence far more terrible.

Then a step wavered across the room. Her soul was in her ear. Shecould hear and feel the step totter, and it shook her as it went.All sounds were trebled to her. Then it struck on the stone step ofthe staircase, not like a step, but a knell; another step, anotherand another; down to the very bottom. Each slow step made her headring and her heart freeze.

At last she heard no more. Then a scream of anguish and recall roseto her lips. She fought it down, for Josephine and Raynal. Edouardwas gone. She had but her sister now, the sister she loved betterthan herself; the sister to save whose life and honor she had thismoment sacrificed her own, and all a woman lives for.She turned, with a wild cry of love and pity, to that sister's sideto help her; and when she kneeled down beside her, an iron arm waspromptly thrust out between the beloved one and her.

"This is my care, madame," said Raynal, coldly.There was no mistaking his manner. The stained one was not to touchhis wife.She looked at him in piteous amazement at his ingratitude. "It iswell," said she. "It is just. I deserve this from you."She said no more, but drooped gently down beside the cradle, and hidher forehead in the clothes beside the child that had brought allthis woe, and sobbed bitterly.Then honest Raynal began to be sorry for her, in spite of himself.

But there was no time for this. Josephine stirred; and, at the samemoment, a violent knocking came at the door of the apartment, andthe new servant's voice, crying, "Ladies, for Heaven's sake, what isthe matter? The baroness heard a fall--she is getting up--she willbe here. What shall I tell her is the matter?"Raynal was going to answer, but Rose, who had started up at theknocking, put her hand in a moment right before his mouth, and ranto the door. "There is nothing the matter; tell mamma I am comingdown to her directly." She flew back to Raynal in an excitementlittle short of frenzy. "Help me carry her into her own room,"cried she imperiously. Raynal obeyed by instinct; for the fierygirl spoke like a general, giving the word of command, with theenemy in front. He carried the true culprit in his arms, and laidher gently on her bed."Now put IT out of sight--take this, quick, man! quick!" cried Rose.

Raynal went to the cradle. "Ah! my poor girl," said he, as helifted it in his arms, "this is a sorry business; to have to hideyour own child from your own mother!""Colonel Raynal," said Rose, "do not insult a poor, despairing girl.C'est lache.""I am silent, young woman," said Raynal, sternly. "What is to bedone?""Take it down the steps, and give it to Jacintha. Stay, here is acandle; I go to tell mamma you are come; and, Colonel Raynal, Inever injured YOU: if you tell my mother you will stab her to theheart, and me, and may the curse of cowards light on you!--may"--"Enough!" said Raynal, sternly. "Do you take me for a babblinggirl? I love your mother better than you do, or this brat of yourswould not be here. I shall not bring her gray hairs down withsorrow to the grave. I shall speak of this villany to but oneperson; and to him I shall talk with this, and not with the idletongue." And he tapped his sword-hilt with a sombre look ofterrible significance.

He carried out the cradle. The child slept sweetly through it all.Rose darted into Josephine's room, took the key from the inside tothe outside, locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and randown to her mother's room; her knees trembled under her as she went.

Both Sides of the Table

Perspectives of a 2x entrepreneur turned VC at @UpfrontVC#

Mark Suster

Written by

2x entrepreneur. Sold both companies (last to salesforce.com). Turned VC looking to invest in passionate entrepreneurs 〞 I*m on Twitter at @msuster

Both Sides of the Table

Perspectives of a 2x entrepreneur turned VC at @UpfrontVC, the largest and most active early-stage fund in Southern California. Snapchat: msuster

Mark Suster

Written by

2x entrepreneur. Sold both companies (last to salesforce.com). Turned VC looking to invest in passionate entrepreneurs 〞 I*m on Twitter at @msuster

Both Sides of the Table

Perspectives of a 2x entrepreneur turned VC at @UpfrontVC, the largest and most active early-stage fund in Southern California. Snapchat: msuster