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"I'll go to the poorhouse until I can do better," she replied wearily. "Now, if you please, I'll return to my cell where I can be alone."metamask to uniswap gas fee"Oh, we can give you a better room than that," said the sergeant. "Show her into the waiting room, Tim. If you prosecute, we can help you with our testimony. Goodbye, and may you have better days!"

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Watterly was telegraphed to come down with a conveyance for the almshouse was in a suburb. In due time he appeared, and was briefly told Alida's story. He swore a little at the "mean cuss," the author of all the trouble, and then took the stricken woman to what all his acquaintances facetiously termed his "hotel."Chapter 11 BaffledIn the general consciousness Nature is regarded as feminine, and even those who love her most will have to adopt Mrs. Mumpson's oft-expressed opinion of the sex and admit that she is sometimes a "peculiar female." During the month of March, in which our story opens, there was scarcely any limit to her varying moods. It would almost appear that she was taking a mysterious interest in Holcroft's affairs; but whether it was a kindly interest or not, one might be at a loss to decide. When she caught him away from home, she pelted him with the coldest of rain and made his house, with even Mrs. Mumpson and Jane abiding there, seem a refuge. In the morning after the day on which he had brought, or in a sense had carted, Mrs. Wiggins to his domicile, Nature was evidently bent on instituting contrasts between herself and the rival phases of femininity with which the farmer was compelled to associate. It may have been that she had another motive and was determined to keep her humble worshiper at her feet, and to render it impossible for him to make the changes toward which he had felt himself driven.Being an early riser he was up with the sun, and the sun rose so serenely and smiled so benignly that Holcroft's clouded brow cleared in spite of all that had happened or could take place. The rain, which had brought such discomfort the night before, had settled the ground and made it comparatively firm to his tread. The southern breeze which fanned his cheek was as soft as the air of May. He remembered that it was Sunday, and that beyond feeding his stock and milking, he would have nothing to do. He exulted in the unusual mildness and thought, with an immense sense of relief, "I can stay outdoors nearly all day." He resolved to let his help kindle the fire and get breakfast as they could, and to keep out of their way. Whatever changes the future might bring, he would have one more long day in rambling about his fields and in thinking over the past. Feeling that there need be no haste about anything, he leisurely inhaled the air, fragrant from springing grass, and listened with a vague, undefined pleasure to the ecstatic music of the bluebirds, song-sparrows, and robins. If anyone had asked him why he liked to hear them, he would have replied, "I'm used to 'em. When they come, I know that plowing and planting time is near."It must be admitted that Holcroft's enjoyment of spring was not very far removed from that of the stock in his barnyard. All the animal creation rejoices in the returning sun and warmth. A subtle, powerful influence sets the blood in more rapid motion, kindles new desires, and awakens a glad expectancy. All that is alive becomes more thoroughly alive and existence in itself is a pleasure. Spring had always brought to the farmer quickened pulses, renewed activity and hopefulness, and he was pleased to find that he was not so old and cast down that its former influence had spent itself. Indeed, it seemed that never before had his fields, his stock, and outdoor work--and these comprised Nature to him--been so attractive. They remained unchanged amid the sad changes which had clouded his life, and his heart clung more tenaciously than ever to old scenes and occupations. They might not bring him happiness again, but he instinctively felt that they might insure a comfort and peace with which he could be content.

At last he went to the barn and began his work, doing everything slowly, and getting all the solace he could from the tasks. The horses whinnied their welcome and he rubbed their noses caressingly as he fed them. The cows came briskly to the rack in which he foddered them in pleasant weather, and when he scratched them between the horns they turned their mild, Juno-like eyes upon him with undisguised affection. The chickens, clamoring for their breakfast, followed so closely that he had to be careful where he stepped. Although he knew that all this good will was based chiefly on the hope of food and the remembrance of it in the past, nevertheless it soothed and pleased him. He was in sympathy with this homely life; it belonged to him and was dependent on him; it made him honest returns for his care. Moreover, it was agreeably linked with the past. There were quiet cows which his wife had milked, clucking biddies which she had lifted from nests with their downy broods. He looked at them wistfully, and was wondering if they ever missed the presence that he regretted so deeply, when he became conscious that Jane's eyes were upon him. How long she had been watching him he did not know, but she merely said, "Breakfast's ready," and disappeared.With a sigh he went to his room to perform his ablutions, remembering with a slight pang how his wife always had a basin and towel ready for him in the kitchen. In the breaking up of just such homely customs, he was continually reminded of his loss."IS THIS JOY?"Rose, by a mighty effort, raised her eyes and confronted his full.

"What else should it be?" said she.And with these words this Spartan girl was her sister's championonce more against all comers, friend or foe.Chapter 16Dr. Aubertin received one day a note from a publishing bookseller,to inquire whether he still thought of giving the world his valuablework on insects. The doctor was amazed. "My valuable work! Why,Rose, they all refused it, and this person in particular recoiledfrom it as if my insects could sting on paper."The above led to a correspondence, in which the convert to insectsexplained that the work must be published at the author's expense,the publisher contenting himself with the profits. The author,thirsting for the public, consented. Then the publisher wrote againto say that the immortal treatise must be spiced; a little politicsflung in: "Nothing goes down, else." The author answered in someheat that he would not dilute things everlasting with the fleetingtopics of the day, nor defile science with politics. On this hisMentor smoothed him down, despising him secretly for not seeing thata book is a matter of trade and nothing else. It ended in Aubertingoing to Paris to hatch his Phoenix. He had not been there a week,when a small deputation called on him, and informed him he had beenelected honorary member of a certain scientific society. Thecompliment was followed by others, till at last certain ladies, withthe pliancy of their sex, find out they had always secretly caredfor butterflies. Then the naturalist smelt a rat, or, in otherwords, began to scent that entomology, a form of idiocy in a poorman, is a graceful decoration of the intellect in a rich one.

Philosopher without bile, he saw through this, and let it amuse, notshock him. His own species, a singularly interesting one in myopinion, had another trait in reserve for him.He took a world of trouble to find out the circumstances of hisnephew's nephews and nieces: then he made arrangements fordistributing a large part of his legacy among them. His intentionsand the proportions of his generosity transpired.

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Hitherto they had been silent, but now they all fell-to and abusedhim: each looking only to the amount of his individual share, not atthe sum total the doctor was giving way to an ungrateful lot.The donor was greatly amused, and noted down the incident and someof the remarks in his commonplace book, under the general head of"Bestiarium;" and the particular head of "Homo."Paris with its seductions netted the good doctor, and held him twoor three months; would have detained him longer, but for alarmingaccounts the baroness sent of Josephine's health. These determinedhim to return to Beaurepaire; and, must I own it, the announcementwas no longer hailed at Beaurepaire with universal joy asheretofore.Josephine Raynal, late Dujardin, is by this time no stranger to myintelligent reader. I wish him to bring his knowledge of hercharacter and her sensibility to my aid. Imagine, as the wearyhours and days and weeks roll over her head, what this loving womanfeels for her lover whom she has dismissed; what this grateful wifefeels for the benefactor she has unwittingly wronged; but will neverwrong with her eyes open; what this lady pure as snow, and proud asfire, feels at the seeming frailty into which a cruel combination ofcircumstances has entrapped her.Put down the book a moment: shut your eyes: and imagine this strangeand complicated form of human suffering.

Her mental sufferings were terrible; and for some time Rose fearedfor her reason. At last her agonies subsided into a listlessnessand apathy little less alarming. She seemed a creature descendinginch by inch into the tomb. Indeed, I fully believe she would havedied of despair: but one of nature's greatest forces stepped intothe arena and fought on the side of life. She was affected withcertain bilious symptoms that added to Rose's uneasiness, butJacintha assured her it was nothing, and would retire and leave thesufferer better. Jacintha, indeed, seemed now to take a particularinterest in Josephine, and was always about her with looks of pityand interest."Good creature!" thought Rose, "she sees my sister is unhappy: andthat makes her more attentive and devoted to her than ever."One day these three were together in Josephine's room. Josephinewas mechanically combing her long hair, when all of a sudden shestretched out her hand and cried, "Rose!"Rose ran to her, and coming behind her saw in the glass that herlips were colorless. She screamed to Jacintha, and between themthey supported Josephine to the bed. She had hardly touched it whenshe fainted dead away. "Mamma! mamma!" cried Rose in her terror."Hush!" cried Jacintha roughly, "hold your tongue: it is only afaint. Help me loosen her: don't make any noise, whatever." Theyloosened her stays, and applied the usual remedies, but it was sometime before she came-to. At last the color came back to her lips,then to her cheek, and the light to her eye. She smiled feebly onJacintha and Rose, and asked if she had not been insensible."Yes, love, and frightened us--a little--not much--oh, dear! oh,dear!""Don't be alarmed, sweet one, I am better. And I will never do itagain, since it frightens you." Then Josephine said to her sisterin a low voice, and in the Italian language, "I hoped it was death,my sister; but he comes not to the wretched.""If you hoped that," replied Rose in the same language, "you do notlove your poor sister who so loves you."While the Italian was going on, Jacintha's dark eyes glancedsuspiciously on each speaker in turn. But her suspicions were allwide of the mark.

"Now may I go and tell mamma?" asked Rose."No, mademoiselle, you shall not," said Jacintha. "Madame Raynal,do take my side, and forbid her.""Why, what is it to you?" said Rose, haughtily.

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"If it was not something to me, should I thwart my dear young lady?""No. And you shall have your own way, if you will but condescend togive me a reason."This to some of us might appear reasonable, but not to Jacintha: iteven hurt her feelings."Mademoiselle Rose," she said, "when you were little and used to askme for anything, did I ever say to you, 'Give me a REASON first'?""There! she is right," said Josephine. "We should not make termswith tried friends. Come, we will pay her devotion this compliment.

It is such a small favor. For my part I feel obliged to her forasking it."Josephine's health improved steadily from that day. Her hollowcheeks recovered their plump smoothness, and her beauty its bloom,and her person grew more noble and statue-like than ever, and withinshe felt a sense of indomitable vitality. Her appetite had for sometime been excessively feeble and uncertain, and her food tasteless;but of late, by what she conceived to be a reaction such as iscommon after youth has shaken off a long sickness, her appetite hadbeen not only healthy but eager. The baroness observed this, and itrelieved her of a large portion of her anxiety. One day at dinnerher maternal heart was so pleased with Josephine's performance thatshe took it as a personal favor, "Well done, Josephine," said she;"that gives your mother pleasure to see you eat again. Soup andbouillon: and now twice you have been to Rose for some of that pate,which does you so much credit, Jacintha."Josephine colored high at this compliment."It is true," said she, "I eat like a pig;" and, with a furtiveglance at the said pate, she laid down her knife and fork, and ateno more of anything. The baroness had now a droll misgiving."The doctor will be angry with me," said she: "he will find her aswell as ever.""Madame," said Jacintha hastily, "when does the doctor come, if Imay make so bold, that I may get his room ready, you know?""Well thought of, Jacintha. He comes the day after to-morrow, inthe afternoon."At night when the young ladies went up to bed, what did they findbut a little cloth laid on a little table in Josephine's room, andthe remains of the pate she had liked. Rose burst out laughing."Look at that dear duck of a goose, Jacintha! Our mother's flatterysank deep: she thinks we can eat her pates at all hours of the dayand night. Shall I send it away?""No," said Josephine, "that would hurt her culinary pride, andperhaps her affection: only cover it up, dear, for just now I am notin the humor: it rather turns me."It was covered up. The sisters retired to rest. In the morningRose lifted the cover and found the plate cleared, polished. Shewas astounded.The large tapestried chamber, once occupied by Camille Dujardin, wasnow turned into a sitting-room, and it was a favorite on account ofthe beautiful view from the windows.One day Josephine sat there alone with some work in her hand; butthe needle often stopped, and the fair head drooped. She heaved adeep sigh. To her surprise it was echoed by a sigh that, like herown, seemed to come from a heart full of sighs.

She turned hastily round and saw Jacintha.Now Josephine had all a woman's eye for reading faces, and she wasinstantly struck by a certain gravity in Jacintha's gaze, and aflutter which the young woman was suppressing with tolerable but notcomplete success.

Disguising the uneasiness this discovery gave her, she looked hervisitor full in the face, and said mildly, but a little coldly,"Well, Jacintha?"Jacintha lowered her eyes and muttered slowly,--"The doctor--comes--to-day," then raised her eyes all in a moment totake Josephine off her guard; but the calm face was impenetrable.So then Jacintha added, "to our misfortune," throwing in still moremeaning.

"To our misfortune? A dear old friend--like him?"Jacintha explained. "That old man makes me shake. You are neversafe with him. So long as his head is in the clouds, you might takehis shoes off, and on he'd walk and never know it; but every now andthen he comes out of the clouds all in one moment, without a word ofwarning, and when he does his eye is on everything, like a bird's.Then he is so old: he has seen a heap. Take my word for it, the oldare more knowing than the young, let them be as sharp as you like:

the old have seen everything. WE have only heard talk of the mostpart, with here and there a glimpse. To know life to the bottom youmust live it out, from the soup to the dessert; and that is what thedoctor has done, and now he is coming here. And Mademoiselle Rosewill go telling him everything; and if she tells him half what shehas seen, your secret will be no secret to that old man.""My secret!" gasped Josephine, turning pale."Don't look so, madame: don't be frightened at poor Jacintha.Sooner or later you MUST trust somebody besides Mademoiselle Rose."Josephine looked at her with inquiring, frightened eyes.Jacintha drew nearer to her.

"Mademoiselle,--I beg pardon, madame,--I carried you in my arms whenI was a child. When I was a girl you toddled at my side, and heldmy gown, and lisped my name, and used to put your little arms roundmy neck, and kissed me, you would; and if ever I had the least painor sickness your dear little face would turn as sorrowful, and allthe pretty color leave it for Jacintha; and now you are in trouble,in sore trouble, yet you turn away from me, you dare not trust me,that would be cut in pieces ere I would betray you. Ah,mademoiselle, you are wrong. The poor can feel: they have all seentrouble, and a servant is the best of friends where she has theheart to love her mistress; and do not I love you? Pray do not turnfrom her who has carried you in her arms, and laid you to sleep uponher bosom, many's and many's the time."Josephine panted audibly. She held out her hand eloquently toJacintha, but she turned her head away and trembled.Jacintha cast a hasty glance round the room. Then she trembled tooat what she was going to say, and the effect it might have on theyoung lady. As for Josephine, terrible as the conversation hadbecome, she made no attempt to evade it: she remained perfectlypassive. It was the best way to learn how far Jacintha hadpenetrated her secret, if at all.

Jacintha looked fearfully round and whispered in Josephine's ear,"When the news of Colonel Raynal's death came, you wept, but thecolor came back to your cheek. When the news of his life came, youturned to stone. Ah! my poor young lady, there has been morebetween you and THAT MAN than should be. Ever since one day you allwent to Frejus together, you were a changed woman. I have seen youlook at him as--as a wife looks at her man. I have seen HIM"--"Hush, Jacintha! Do not tell me what you have seen: oh! do notremind me of joys I pray God to help me forget. He was my husband,then!--oh, cruel Jacintha, to remind me of what I have been, of whatI am! Ah me! ah me! ah me!""Your husband!" cried Jacintha in utter amazement.Then Josephine drooped her head on this faithful creature'sshoulder, and told her with many sobs the story I have told you.

She told it very briefly, for it was to a woman who, though littleeducated, was full of feeling and shrewdness, and needed but thebare facts: she could add the rest from her own heart andexperience: could tell the storm of feelings through which these twounhappy lovers must have passed. Her frequent sighs of pity andsympathy drew Josephine on to pour out all her griefs. When thetale was ended she gave a sigh of relief."It might have been worse: I thought it was worse the more fool I.

I deserve to have my head cut off." This was Jacintha's onlycomment at that time.It was Josephine's turn to be amazed. "It could have been worse?"said she. "How? tell me," added she bitterly. "It would be aconsolation to me, could I see that."Jacintha colored and evaded this question, and begged her to go on,to keep nothing back from her. Josephine assured her she hadrevealed all. Jacintha looked at her a moment in silence."It is then as I half suspected. You do not know all that is beforeyou. You do not see why I am afraid of that old man.""No, not of him in particular.""Nor why I want to keep Mademoiselle Rose from prattling to him?""No. I assure you Rose is to be trusted; she is wise--wiser than Iam.""You are neither of you wise. You neither of you know anything. Mypoor young mistress, you are but a child still. You have a deepwater to wade through," said Jacintha, so solemnly that Josephinetrembled. "A deep water, and do not see it even. You have told mewhat is past, now I must tell you what is coming. Heaven help me!But is it possible you have no misgiving? Tell the truth, now.""Alas! I am full of them; at your words, at your manner, they flyaround me in crowds.""Have you no ONE?""No.""Then turn your head from me a bit, my sweet young lady; I am anhonest woman, though I am not so innocent as you, and I am forcedagainst my will to speak my mind plainer than I am used to."Then followed a conversation, to detail which might anticipate ourstory; suffice it to say, that Rose, coming into the room rathersuddenly, found her sister weeping on Jacintha's bosom, and Jacinthacrying and sobbing over her.

She stood and stared in utter amazement.Dr. Aubertin, on his arrival, was agreeably surprised at MadameRaynal's appearance. He inquired after her appetite.

"Oh, as to her appetite," cried the baroness, "that is immense.""Indeed!""It was," explained Josephine, "just when I began to get better, butnow it is as much as usual." This answer had been arrangedbeforehand by Jacintha. She added, "The fact is, we wanted to seeyou, doctor, and my ridiculous ailments were a good excuse fortearing you from Paris."--"And now we have succeeded," said Rose,"let us throw off the mask, and talk of other things; above all, ofParis, and your eclat.""For all that," persisted the baroness, "she was ill, when I firstwrote, and very ill too.""Madame Raynal," said the doctor solemnly, "your conduct has beenirregular; once ill, and your illness announced to your medicaladviser, etiquette forbade you to get well but by his prescriptions.Since, then, you have shown yourself unfit to conduct a malady, itbecomes my painful duty to forbid you henceforth ever to be ill atall, without my permission first obtained in writing."This badinage was greatly relished by Rose, but not at all by thebaroness, who was as humorless as a swan.

He stayed a month at Beaurepaire, then off to Paris again: and beingnow a rich man, and not too old to enjoy innocent pleasures, he gota habit of running backwards and forwards between the two places,spending a month or so at each alternately. So the days rolled on.Josephine fell into a state that almost defies description; herheart was full of deadly wounds, yet it seemed, by some mysterious,half-healing balm, to throb and ache, but bleed no more. Beams ofstrange, unreasonable complacency would shoot across her; the nextmoment reflection would come, she would droop her head, and sighpiteously. Then all would merge in a wild terror of detection. Sheseemed on the borders of a river of bliss, new, divine, andinexhaustible: and on the other bank mocking malignant fiends daredher to enter that heavenly stream. The past to her was full ofregrets; the future full of terrors, and empty of hope. Yet she didnot, could not succumb. Instead of the listlessness and languor ofa few months back, she had now more energy than ever; at times itmounted to irritation. An activity possessed her: it broke out inmany feminine ways. Among the rest she was seized with what we mencall a cacoethes of the needle: "a raging desire" for work. Herfingers itched for work. She was at it all day. As devotees retireto pray, so she to stitch. On a wet day she would often slip intothe kitchen, and ply the needle beside Jacintha: on a dry day shewould hide in the old oak-tree, and sit like a mouse, and ply thetools of her craft, and make things of no mortal use to man orwoman; and she tried little fringes of muslin upon her white hand,and held it up in front of her, and smiled, and then moaned. It waswinter, and Rose used sometimes to bring her out a thick shawl, asshe sat in the old oak-tree stitching, but Josephine nearly alwaysdeclined it. SHE WAS NEARLY IMPERVIOUS TO COLD.

Both Sides of the Table

Perspectives of a 2x entrepreneur turned VC at @UpfrontVC#

Mark Suster

Written by

2x entrepreneur. Sold both companies (last to salesforce.com). Turned VC looking to invest in passionate entrepreneurs 〞 I*m on Twitter at @msuster

Both Sides of the Table

Perspectives of a 2x entrepreneur turned VC at @UpfrontVC, the largest and most active early-stage fund in Southern California. Snapchat: msuster

Mark Suster

Written by

2x entrepreneur. Sold both companies (last to salesforce.com). Turned VC looking to invest in passionate entrepreneurs 〞 I*m on Twitter at @msuster

Both Sides of the Table

Perspectives of a 2x entrepreneur turned VC at @UpfrontVC, the largest and most active early-stage fund in Southern California. Snapchat: msuster