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Sand, George, 1804-1876

"Mauprat"


It is my title, and I shall know how to make it respected."
"By Jove! Not by me," I said, pushing away the cure, who had made me sit
down again.
"And yet it would not be for the first time," replied Patience, with a
contemptuous smile.
"You remind me," I answered, "that we two have some old accounts to
settle."
And heedless of the frightful agony caused by my sprain, I rose again,
and with a backhander I sent Don Marcasse, who was endeavouring the play
the cure's part of peacemaker, head over heels into the middle of the
ashes. I did not mean him any harm, but my movements were somewhat
rough, and the poor man was so frail that to my hand he was but as a
weasel would have been to his own. Patience was standing before me with
his arms crossed, in the attitude of a stoic philosopher, but the fire
was flashing in his eyes. Conscious of his position as my host, he was
evidently waiting until I struck the first blow before attempting
to crush me. I should not have kept him waiting long, had not Edmee,
scorning the danger of interfering with a madman, seized my arm and
said, in an authoritative tone:
"Sit down again, and be quiet; I command you."
So much boldness and confidence surprised and pleased me at the same
time. The rights which she arrogated to herself over me were, in some
measure, a sanction of those I claimed to have over her.
"You are right," I answered, sitting down.


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