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- 8298
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.921Z
- extracted_by
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- start_line
- 8248
- text
- IV.
Passing through the broad court-yard's postern, Pierre closed it after
him, and then turned and leaned upon it, his eyes fixed upon the great
central chimney of the mansion, from which a light blue smoke was
wreathing gently into the morning air.
"The hearth-stone from which thou risest, never more, I inly feel, will
these feet press. Oh God, what callest thou that which has thus made
Pierre a vagabond?"
He walked slowly away, and passing the windows of Lucy, looked up, and
saw the white curtains closely drawn, the white-cottage profoundly
still, and a white saddle-horse tied before the gate.
"I would enter, but again would her abhorrent wails repel; what more can
I now say or do to her? I can not explain. She knows all I purposed to
disclose. Ay, but thou didst cruelly burst upon her with it; thy
impetuousness, thy instantaneousness hath killed her, Pierre!--Nay, nay,
nay!--Cruel tidings who can gently break? If to stab be inevitable; then
instant be the dagger! Those curtains are close drawn upon her; so let
me upon her sweet image draw the curtains of my soul. Sleep, sleep,
sleep, sleep, thou angel!--wake no more to Pierre, nor to thyself, my
Lucy!"
Passing on now hurriedly and blindly, he jostled against some
oppositely-going wayfarer. The man paused amazed; and looking up, Pierre
recognized a domestic of the Mansion. That instantaneousness which now
impelled him in all his actions, again seized the ascendency in him.
Ignoring the dismayed expression of the man at thus encountering his
young master, Pierre commanded him to follow him. Going straight to the
"Black Swan," the little village Inn, he entered the first vacant room,
and bidding the man be seated, sought the keeper of the house, and
ordered pen and paper.
If fit opportunity offer in the hour of unusual affliction, minds of a
certain temperament find a strange, hysterical relief, in a wild,
perverse humorousness, the more alluring from its entire unsuitableness
to the occasion; although they seldom manifest this trait toward those
individuals more immediately involved in the cause or the effect of
their suffering. The cool censoriousness of the mere philosopher would
denominate such conduct as nothing short of temporary madness; and
perhaps it is, since, in the inexorable and inhuman eye of mere
undiluted reason, all grief, whether on our own account, or that of
others, is the sheerest unreason and insanity.
The note now written was the following:
"_For that Fine Old Fellow, Dates._
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