The Project Gutenberg EBook of La Grande Breteche, by Honore de Balzac

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: La Grande Breteche

Author: Honore de Balzac

Translator: Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell

Release Date: April, 1999 [Etext #1710]
Posting Date: February 28, 2010

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA GRANDE BRETECHE ***

Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny

LA GRANDE BRETECHE

(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")

By Honore De Balzac

Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell

LA GRANDE BRETECHE

"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conversation--you know
the pretty jest recorded by Chamfort, and said to the Duc de Fronsac:
'Between your sally and the present moment lie ten bottles of
champagne.'"

"But it is two in the morning, and the story of Rosina has prepared us,"
said the mistress of the house.

"Tell us, Monsieur Bianchon!" was the cry on every side.

The obliging doctor bowed, and silence reigned.

"At about a hundred paces from Vendome, on the banks of the Loir," said
he, "stands an old brown house, crowned with very high roofs, and so
completely isolated that there is nothing near it, not even a fetid
tannery or a squalid tavern, such as are commonly seen outside small
towns. In front of this house is a garden down to the river, where the
box shrubs, formerly clipped close to edge the walks, now straggle
at their own will. A few willows, rooted in the stream, have grown
up quickly like an enclosing fence, and half hide the house. The
wild plants we call weeds have clothed the bank with their beautiful
luxuriance. The fruit-trees, neglected for these ten years past,
no longer bear a crop, and their suckers have formed a thicket. The
espaliers are like a copse. The paths, once graveled, are overgrown with
purslane; but, to be accurate there is no trace of a path.

"Looking down from the hilltop, to which cling the ruins of the old
castle of the Dukes of Vendome, the only spot whence the eye can
see into this enclosure, we think that at a time, difficult now to
determine, this spot of earth