Nothing had been further from
his thoughts than Jacques Rollet when he closed his eyes on the
preceding night, or when he opened them to that sun which was to shine
on what he expected to be the happiest day of his life. Where were the
high-strung nerves now, the elastic frame, the bounding heart?
Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed, for it was time to do so;
and with a trembling hand and quivering knees he went through the
processes of the toilet, gashing his cheek with the razor, and spilling
the water over his well-polished boots. When he was dressed, scarcely
venturing to cast a glance in the mirror as he passed it, he quitted
the room and descended the stairs, taking the key of the door with him,
for the purpose of leaving it with the porter; the man, however, being
absent, he laid it on the table in his lodge, and with a relaxed hand
and languid step he proceeded to the carriage which quickly conveyed
him to the church, where he was met by Natalie and her friends.
How difficult it was now to look happy, with that pallid face and
extinguished eye!
"How pale you are! Has anything happened? You are surely ill?" were
the exclamations that assailed him on all sides.
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