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Lamartine, Alphonse de, 1790-1869

"Raphael Pages of the Book of Life at Twenty"

Nothing was to
be heard but the sound of a few carriages, which, at rare intervals,
rattled over the stones of the quay, or the deep breathing of the old
concierge, who was stretched sleeping on a bench in the vestibule at
the foot of the stairs.
We would first look at each other, as if surprised at our happiness. I
would draw nearer to the table where Julie worked by the light of the
lamp. The work soon fell from her unheeding hands; our looks expanded,
our lips were unsealed, our hearts overflowed. Our choked and hurried
words, like the flow of water impeded by too narrow an opening, were at
first slowly poured forth, and the torrent of our thoughts trickled out
drop by drop. We could not select, among the many things we had to say,
those we most wished to impart to each other. Sometimes there was a
long silence, caused by the confusion and excess of crowded thoughts
which accumulated in our hearts and could not escape. Then they began
to flow slowly, like those first drops which show that the cloud is
about to dissolve or burst; these words called forth others in
response; one voice led on the other, as a falling child draws his
companion with him.


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