-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стендаль
-
- Красное и черное
-
- Стр. 270/396
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
And
by
and
by
a
cloud
takes
all
away
.
—
Shakespeare
.
Engrossed
by
thoughts
of
her
future
and
the
singular
rôle
which
she
hoped
to
play
,
Mathilde
soon
came
to
miss
the
dry
metaphysical
conversations
which
she
had
often
had
with
Julien
.
Fatigued
by
these
lofty
thoughts
she
would
sometimes
also
miss
those
moments
of
happiness
which
she
had
found
by
his
side
;
these
last
memories
were
not
unattended
by
remorse
which
at
certain
times
even
overwhelmed
her
.
"
But
one
may
have
a
weakness
,
"
she
said
to
herself
,
"
a
girl
like
I
am
should
only
forget
herself
for
a
man
of
real
merit
;
they
will
not
say
that
it
is
his
pretty
moustache
or
his
skill
in
horsemanship
which
have
fascinated
me
,
but
rather
his
deep
discussions
on
the
future
of
France
and
his
ideas
on
the
analogy
between
the
events
which
are
going
to
burst
upon
us
and
the
English
revolution
of
1688
.
"
"
I
have
been
seduced
,
"
she
answered
in
her
remorse
.
"
I
am
a
weak
woman
,
but
at
least
I
have
not
been
led
astray
like
a
doll
by
exterior
advantages
.
"
"
If
there
is
a
revolution
why
should
not
Julien
Sorel
play
the
role
of
Roland
and
I
the
rôle
of
Madame
Roland
?
I
prefer
that
part
to
Madame
de
Stael
’
s
;
the
immorality
of
my
conduct
will
constitute
an
obstacle
in
this
age
of
ours
.
I
will
certainly
not
let
them
reproach
me
with
an
act
of
weakness
;
I
should
die
of
shame
.
"
Mathilde
’
s
reveries
were
not
all
as
grave
,
one
must
admit
,
as
the
thoughts
which
we
have
just
transcribed
.
She
would
look
at
Julien
and
find
a
charming
grace
in
his
slightest
action
.
"
I
have
doubtless
,
"
she
would
say
,
"
succeeded
in
destroying
in
him
the
very
faintest
idea
he
had
of
any
one
else
’
s
rights
.
"
"
The
air
of
unhappiness
and
deep
passion
with
which
the
poor
boy
declared
his
love
to
me
eight
days
ago
proves
it
;
I
must
own
it
was
very
extraordinary
of
me
to
manifest
anger
at
words
in
which
there
shone
so
much
respect
and
so
much
of
passion
.
Am
I
not
his
real
wife
?
Those
words
of
his
were
quite
natural
,
and
I
must
admit
,
were
really
very
nice
.
Julien
still
continued
to
love
me
,
even
after
those
eternal
conversations
in
which
I
had
only
spoken
to
him
(
cruelly
enough
I
admit
)
,
about
those
weaknesses
of
love
which
the
boredom
of
the
life
I
lead
had
inspired
me
for
those
young
society
men
of
whom
he
is
so
jealous
.
Ah
,
if
he
only
knew
what
little
danger
I
have
to
fear
from
them
;
how
withered
and
stereotyped
they
seem
to
me
in
comparison
with
him
.
"
While
indulging
in
these
reflections
Mathilde
made
a
random
pencil
sketch
of
a
profile
on
a
page
of
her
album
.
One
of
the
profiles
she
had
just
finished
surprised
and
delighted
her
.
It
had
a
striking
resemblance
to
Julien
.
"
It
is
the
voice
of
heaven
.
That
’
s
one
of
the
miracles
of
love
,
"
she
cried
ecstatically
;
"
Without
suspecting
it
,
I
have
drawn
his
portrait
.
"
