Read one, the top one. One is enough."
The windows stood open, and the morning breeze fluttering the
curtains brought in the gay sound of bells, the high clear bells of
Hanseatic days, rejoicing at Napoleon's new success--by order of
Napoleon. A bee sailed harmoniously into the room, made the circuit
of it, and sought the open again with a hum that faded drowsily into
silence.
D'Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned end,
while Desiree, sitting at the table, upon which she leant one elbow,
resting her small square chin in the palm of her hand, watched him.
"Ah?" she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt in her voice,
as if at the thought of something unclean. "A spy! It is so easy
for you to keep still, and to hide all you feel."
D'Arragon folded the letter slowly. It was the fatal letter written
in the upper room in the shoemaker's house in Konigsberg in the
Neuer Markt, where the linden trees grow close to the window. In it
Charles spoke lightly of the sacrifice he had made in leaving
Desiree on his wedding-day, to do the Emperor's bidding. It was
indeed the greatest sacrifice that man can make; for he had thrown
away his honour.
"It may not be so easy as you think," returned D'Arragon, looking
towards the door
He had no time to say more; for Mathilde and her father were talking
together on the stairs as they came down. D'Arragon thrust the
letters into his pocket, the only indication he had time to give to
Desiree of the policy they must pursue.
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