This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1882. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... fore yesterday. But my symphony? I hope that unhappy woman will be present; at all events, several people at Feydeau are putting their heads together to make her come. I, however, do not believe she will; if she reads the programme of my instrumental drama, she cannot help recognising herself, and from that moment she will take every care not to appear. God only knows what will be said, as so many people know my history. XXVII. Paris, July 24, 1830. My Dear Friend, I am thoroughly reassured on your account. Imagine, three letters without a Bingle reply. You send me a few lines promising me whole pages to come; if you only knew how many times I have come home from a long distance merely to see if the letter, so impatiently awaited, bad at length arrived, you would be really concerned at not having kept your promise to me. How lazy you are for I hope you are not ill. I am still awaiting your letter. Fortunately, my dear friend, everything is going on well. All the tenderness and delicacy that love can hold, I possess. My ravishing sylph, my Ariel, my life, appears to love rae more than ever. As for me, her mother is incessantly repeating that if she were to read in a novel the description of a love like mine, she would not believe it. We have been separated for a few days, as I have been shut up in the Institutfor the last time. I must win the prize, for upon it depends our happiness in a great measure; like Don Carlos in Hernani, I say, Je I'aurai. She torments herself by thinking of it continually. To give me some comfort in my imprisonment, Madame Mooke sends her maidservant to me every other day with a message telling me how they are going on, and asking for news of me. What ecstasy when I see her again some ten or twelve days hence! We shall in all probabili...
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