NOVELS
BY
GEORGE SAND
VOLUME XIII
ANTONIA
THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON, NEW YORK
THE LOVERS' TRYST
They sat there in the darkness, amid bushes ladenwith flowers, in the splendor of early summer, whichretains all the charm of spring.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE LOVERS' TRYST
JULIEN'S RUSE
A DISTURBED CONFERENCE
JULIEN ESCORTS MADAME D'ESTRELLE
JULIE AT THE CONVENT AT CHAILLOT
THE CHRISTENING OF THE LILY
ANTONIA
To M. EDOUARD RODRIGUES
To you who adopt orphan children, and who do goodmodestly, with both hands and at sight, as you read Mozartand Beethoven.
GEORGE SAND
I
The time was the month of April, 1785, and the place Paris, where thespring that year was a genuine spring. The garden was in holiday attire,the greensward was studded with marguerites, the birds were singing, andthe lilacs grew so straight and so close to Julien's window, that theirfragrant clusters actually entered his room and strewed the white tiledfloor of his studio with their little violet crosses.
Julien Thierry was a painter of flowers, like his father André Thierry,renowned under Louis XV. in the art of decorating spaces over doors,dining-room panels and boudoir ceilings. Those dainty ornaments became,under his skilful hands, objects of genuine, serious art, so that theartisan had became an artist, highly esteemed by people of taste,handsomely paid, and a person of much consideration in society. Julien,his pupil, had confined himself to painting on canvas. The fashion ofhis time frowned upon the fanciful and charming decorations of thePompadour style. The Louis XVI. style was more severe; flowers were nolonger strewn upon walls and ceilings, but were framed. Julien, then,painted flower and fruit pieces of the Mignon variety, mother-of-pearlshells, multi-colored butterflies, green lizards and drops of dew. Hehad much talent, he was handsome, he was twenty-four years old, and hisfather had left him nothing but debts.
André Thierry's widow was there in the studio where Julien was at work,and where the clusters of lilac shed their petals under the soft touchof a warm breeze. She was a woman of sixty, well-preserved, with eyesthat were still beautiful, hair almost black, and slim, delicate hands.Short, slight, pale, dressed poorly, but with studied neatness, MadameThierry was knitti