BLTC Press Titles


available for Kindle at Amazon.com


Further Adventures of an Irish R. M.

Edith Somerville and Martin Ross


The Revolt of the Netherlands

Friedrich Schiller


Darby O'Gill and the Little People

Hermenie Templeton Kavanagh


The Count of Monte Cristo

Alexandre Dumas


Le fils naturel

by Alexandre Dumas

Excerpt:

LUCIEN.

Have I not a constitution of iron?

DOCTOR.

Yon! you are built like the Pont Neuf.

LUCIEX.

Now you see, Madame!

MADAME GERVAIS (to the DOCTOR).

I will go and tell my niece you are here.

[Exit.

Scene III.—Doctor and Lucien.
Doctor.

Ah! so you still live here—on account of the mistress of the house, I suppose?

LUCIEN.

I? not the least in the world!

DOCTOR.

Nevertheless they say so.

LUCIEN.

Then they are wrong.

DOCTOR.

She is lady-like!

LUCIEN.

Yes.

DOCTOR.

And seems a good little woman.

LUCIEN.

Excellent! but she would not love me—and I do not think of her. Moreover, she has a husband, whom she adores.

DOCTOR.

Is it true, then, that she is married?

LUCIEN.

Why not? There are some married women in the world! You are looking at me, my dear Doctor?

DOCTOR.

You ought to take care of yourself.

LUCIEN.

Really?

DOCTOR

However strong a man may be it is necessary for him to use some self-restraint. Why do you not travel?

LUCIEN.

In Italy?

DOCTOR.

Yes! or better still—why don't you marry?

LUCIEN.

Thank you! Marriage is too far off—I prefer Italy. (To Clara, who enters) Good morning, Madame! How are you to-day?

Scene IV.—The same and Clara,
Clara.

Very well, I thank you, M. Lucien.

LUCIEN.

Is the child better?

CLARA

We shall hear what the Doctor says.

DOCTOR.

Has he slept, Madame?

CLARA.

Very well

DOCTOR.

That is a good sign. I will go in and see him. [i7;a'i}D0CT0R. Scene V.—Clara and Lucien.

Clara (preparing to follow the Doctor). Excuse me, M. Lucien.

LUCIEN.

Oh! certainly.

CLARA.

Is there anything yon wanted to say?

LUCIEN.

Nothing!—only yon looked so sad yesterday.

CLARA.

I was anxious about my boy.

LUCIEN.

Was that all?

CLARA.

Yes.

LUCIEN.

And to-day?

CLARA.

To-day I am less so.

MJCIEN.

Have you heard of your husband?

CLARA.

I am expecting him to-day.

LUCTEN.

Pray go and join the Doctor (gives her his hand).

Clara (with interest). I think you are feverish?

LUCIEN.

I am sure I am! My pulse beats eighty-five to the minute—sixteen thousand too many during the day, that's pretty well! I made the calculation!

CLARA.

Then you are ill?

LUCIEN (with indifference).

Very ill!

CLARA.

You ought to consult the Doctor—I shall run and call him.

LUCIEN.

It is useless—he can do nothing; I know better than he does what is the matter with me.

CLARA.

What is the matter, then?

LUCIEJf.

It is easily told. I am the son of a father who died from an aneurism at thirty, and of a mother who died of consumption at twentythree. I have been the master of myself since I was eighteen, and of my fortune since I was twenty-one. I have only one more year to live!

CLARA.

What childishness!

LUCIEN.

I know but too well what I am saying! Au revoir, Madame!

CLARA.

But

LUCIEN.

Oh ! I beg of you not to pity me, not to tell me to take care of myself. I spend my life in meeting people who say to me, "How ill you look! you ought to take care of yourself: what is the matter with you—you are very pale?" Then there are some who look at me and say nothing —but whose thoughts I can read in their eyes This, you can imagine, is even more intolerable. I know well that I am ill, and I do not need to be told so. But people in good health are so happy and so proud of showing that they are so.


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