![]() “My old friends were often surprised at the coldness which suddenly sprang up between one of my best friends whose Christian name was Julien, and myself. When the disaster was remedied, there was a strong smell of burning, and, sitting down opposite to his friend, the man looked at her with a smile and said, as he pointed to the log: “That is the reason why I never married.” She looked at him in astonishment, with the inquisitive gaze of women who wish to know everything, that eye which women have who are no longer very young,-in which a complex, and often roguish, curiosity is reflected, and she asked: “How so?” “Oh, it is a long story,” he replied “a rather sad and unpleasant story. The old lady, with a little scream, sprang to her feet to run away, while he kicked the log back on to the hearth and stamped out all the burning sparks with his boots. ![]() It fell over the firedogs into the drawing-room and rolled on to the carpet, scattering great sparks around it. They had not spoken for about a minute, and were both looking at the fire, dreaming of no matter what, in one of those moments of friendly silence between people who have no need to be constantly talking in order to be happy together, when suddenly a large log, a stump covered with burning roots, fell out. He was a very old friend, who had never married, a constant friend, a companion in the journey of life, but nothing more. She, the mistress of the house, was an old lady with white hair, but one of those old ladies whose unwrinkled skin is as smooth as the finest paper, and scented, impregnated with perfume, with the delicate essences which she had used in her bath for so many years. A large fire burned in the grate and a solitary lamp at one end of the mantelpiece threw a soft light on the two persons who were talking. AS MOSCAS DE DEUS: The drawing-room was small, full of heavy draperies and discreetly fragrant.
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