Lacheneur after Chupin had delivered
his message.
But what did he care for the beauties of the landscape!
Upon the church porch he had received his death-wound; and now, with a
tottering and dragging step, he dragged himself along like one of those
poor soldiers, mortally wounded upon the field of battle, who go back,
seeking a ditch or quiet spot where they can lie down and die.
He seemed to have lost all thought of his surroundings--all
consciousness of previous events. He pursued his way, lost in his
reflections, guided only by force of habit.
Two or three times his daughter, Marie-Anne, who was walking by his
side, addressed him; but an "Ah! let me alone!" uttered in a harsh tone,
was the only response she could draw from him.
Evidently he had received a terrible blow; and undoubtedly, as often
happens under such circumstances, the unfortunate man was reviewing all
the different phases of his life.
At twenty Lacheneur was only a poor ploughboy in the service of the
Sairmeuse family.
His ambition was modest then. When stretched beneath a tree at the hour
of noonday rest, his dreams were as simple as those of an infant.
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