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s Etelka: Thou lovest me not? What matters it? My soul is linked to thine, As clings the leaf unto the tree: Cold winter comes; it falls; let be! So I for thee will pine. My fate pursues me to the tomb. Thou fliest? Even in its gloom Thou art not free. What follows in thy steps? Thy shade? Ah, no! my soul in pain, sweet maid, E'er watches thee. "My soul is linked to thine, as clings the leaf unto the tree!" Michel repeated the lines with a sort of defiance in his look, and longed impatiently and nervously for the day to end. A rapid flush of anger mounted to his face as his valet entered with a card upon a salver, and he exclaimed, harshly: "Did not Pierre give you my orders that I would receive no one?" "I beg your pardon, Monsieur; but Monsieur Labanoff insisted so strongly--" "Labanoff?" repeated Michel. "Monsieur Labanoff, who leaves Paris this evening, and desires to see Monsieur before his departure." The name of Labanoff recalled to Michel an old friend whom he had met in all parts of Europe, and whom he had not seen for a long time. He liked him exceedingly for a sort of odd pessimism of aggressive philosophy, a species of mysticism mingled with bitterness, which Labanoff took no pains to conceal. The young Hungarian had, perhaps, among the men of his own age, no other friend in the world than this Russian with odd ideas, whose enigmatical smile puzzled and interested him. He looked at the clock. Labanoff's visit might make the time pass until dinner. "Admit Monsieur Labanoff!" In a few moments Labanoff entered. He was a tall, thin young man, with a complexion the color of wax, flashing eyes, and a little pointed mustache. His hair, black and curly, was brushed straight up from his forehead. He had the air of a soldier in his long, closely buttoned frock-coat. It was many months since these two men had met; but they had been long bound together by a powerful sympathy, born of quiet talks and confidences, in which each had told the other of similar sufferings. A long deferred secret hope troubled Labanoff as the memory of Marsa devoured Menko; and they had many times exchanged dismal theories upon the world, life, men, and laws. Their common bitterness united them. And Michel received Labanoff, despite his resolution to receive no one, because he was certain that he should find in him the same suffering as that expressed by De Musse
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