The fear of living

M. Henry Bordeaux’s latest novel, “The Fear of Living,” appeared several months ago, at a season when the “summer novel” was flourishing. That season belongs to the big purveyor...

Madame Guibert was waiting in the drawing-room at “Le Maupas,” ready to go out. In one hand she held her umbrella, though the weather was fine and the barometer high, while with...

In the friendship between brother and sister there is a frank and simple sweetness that makes it a sentiment apart from all others. In its nature it is free from the violent out...

The course at Marlioz is less than two miles from Aix-les-Bains, on the road to Chambéry. The view from the stands, which occupy one of the slopes facing Mont Revard is fine and...

“Don’t take them from me, please,” she answered softly. And she smiled her delicate sweet smile. The young man had surprised her seated under the chestnut trees at work, near th...

A plebeian husband and a woman of the aristocracy have not yet come to be regarded in French provincial life as making a good match. They are called “half bloods,” and they cann...

Every morning Alice Dulaurens said to herself that she would spend the day inducing her parents to give their consent to this marriage of which the thought alone filled her with...

With her slow and lingering step Madame Guibert came up the avenue of plane-trees. For this visit of ceremony she was dressed in her newest black dress, and Paule with the great...

In the garden at Le Maupas, where the roses were fading in the shadow of the yellowing chestnut boughs, Marcel and Jean Berlier were poring over a map of Africa spread out on th...

The next day everything passed off as arranged. Isabelle Orlandi and Jean Berlier took Alice Dulaurens to the park, as far as the oakwood where Marcel had been instructed to wai...

A family meal before a departure reminds us in its sadness of the first meal we have together after the final disappearance of an habitual guest. If no one is missing as yet, st...

Upon the look which his wife threw at him he left the immediate neighborhood of the fireplace, where some enormous oak-logs were burning, and modestly seated himself at the side...

The discussion at the Café National at Cognin had been long and animated. When the telegram from the Minister of War had been brought to the town-hall, the municipal schoolmaste...

Madame Guibert came in, stooping a little, wrapped in an old and well-worn fur cloak. The lamp-shade prevented her noticing how pale her daughter was as she kissed her. She came...

The chief occupation of the Mayor of Cognin in the morning was to read his paper. With the exception of the workmen from the neighboring factories, who came in the early morning...

What would not those who have been stricken by the grief of some faraway disaster give to hear about their loved one from some witness of the fatal scene, to learn the details o...

In the middle of the front tier of boxes at the Club Theatre at Aix-les-Bains Madame de Marthenay and Madame Landeau displayed their beauty, one shyly, the other with the utmost...

Jean was putting M. Loigny into a victoria which he had fetched for him in the town. The old gentleman was wearing a frock-coat, a silk stock wound several times round his neck...

On the veranda Madame Guibert was waiting for the return of “her children.” Her arms were crossed on the iron balustrade; hidden in one of her hands she held a rosary, the beads...

On the road to Rose Villa Jean breathed in the air of the loveliest of summer nights and tasted that joy which life gives when love comes to make it straight and whole, not to d...

On a dark morning in December a few women slipped like shadows through the snow which deadened their footsteps, to Saint-Real and Metropole Streets, which lead to the Cathedral...

“I cannot stay here any longer,” she thought When she stood up she had to hold on to the wall and she wondered if she would have the strength to reach the house.