- end_line
- 3461
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3399
- text
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"Why, dear aunt," said little Pierre, "how earnestly you talk--after
what? your voice is getting very strange; do now;--don't talk that way;
you frighten me so, aunt."
"Perhaps it is this bad cold I have to-day; it makes my voice a little
hoarse, I fear, Pierre. But I will try and not talk so hoarsely again.
Well, my child, some time before this beautiful young lady disappeared,
indeed it was only shortly after the poor emigrants landed, your father
made her acquaintance; and with many other humane gentlemen of the city,
provided for the wants of the strangers, for they were very poor indeed,
having been stripped of every thing, save a little trifling jewelry,
which could not go very far. At last, the friends of your father
endeavored to dissuade him from visiting these people so much; they were
fearful that as the young lady was so very beautiful, and a little
inclined to be intriguing--so some said--your father might be tempted to
marry her; which would not have been a wise thing in him; for though the
young lady might have been very beautiful, and good-hearted, yet no one
on this side the water certainly knew her history; and she was a
foreigner; and would not have made so suitable and excellent a match for
your father as your dear mother afterward did, my child. But, for
myself, I--who always knew your father very well in all his intentions,
and he was very confidential with me, too--I, for my part, never
credited that he would do so unwise a thing as marry the strange young
lady. At any rate, he at last discontinued his visits to the emigrants;
and it was after this that the young lady disappeared. Some said that
she must have voluntarily but secretly returned into her own country;
and others declared that she must have been kidnapped by French
emissaries; for, after her disappearance, rumor began to hint that she
was of the noblest birth, and some ways allied to the royal family; and
then, again, there were some who shook their heads darkly, and muttered
of drownings, and other dark things; which one always hears hinted when
people disappear, and no one can find them. But though your father and
many other gentlemen moved heaven and earth to find trace of her, yet,
as I said before, my child, she never re-appeared."
"The poor French lady!" sighed little Pierre. "Aunt, I'm afraid she was
murdered."
"Poor lady, there is no telling," said his aunt. "But listen, for I am
coming to the picture again. Now, at the time your father was so often
visiting the emigrants, my child, cousin Ralph was one of those who a
little fancied that your father was courting her; but cousin Ralph being
a quiet young man, and a scholar, not well acquainted with what is wise,
or what is foolish in the great world; cousin Ralph would not have been
at all mortified had your father really wedded with the refugee young
lady. So vainly thinking, as I told you, that your father was courting
her, he fancied it would be a very fine thing if he could paint your
father as her wooer; that is, paint him just after his coming from his
daily visits to the emigrants. So he watched his chance; every thing
being ready in his painting-room, as I told you before; and one
morning, sure enough, in dropt your father from his walk. But before he
came into the room, cousin Ralph had spied him from the window; and when
your father entered, cousin Ralph had the sitting-chair ready drawn out,
back of his easel, but still fronting toward him, and pretended to be
very busy painting. He said to your father--'Glad to see you, cousin
Pierre; I am just about something here; sit right down there now, and
tell me the news; and I'll sally out with you presently. And tell us
something of the emigrants, cousin Pierre,' he slyly added--wishing, you
see, to get your father's thoughts running that supposed wooing way, so
that he might catch some sort of corresponding expression you see,
little Pierre."
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