Anita

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-2-322-10938-8
Verlag: BoD - Books on Demand
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 222 Seiten

Overnight, the sweet and sensitive Anita was forced to live in the honourable Handen house. And, for her, the misfortune has begun.... The Handen, Anita's distant relatives, have a dry heart. Kneaded with pride, they subjected the young orphan girl to the worst humiliations, which they despise: if her father was a Handen, her mother was a poor Spanish woman who sang for a living. To add to her suffering, Anita falls in love with Ary, the eldest son of the Handens, a wonderful artist, elegant and haughty, who does not deign to realize that she exists. There is no prospect of happiness for Anita in this hostile environment. Will she agree to marry Ulrich, the sympathetic son of a pastor, who is sincerely in love with it? She dreams, she waits. Sometimes trials change hearts... What if Anita is right to hope?

Delly is the name of spouse feather of a brother and a sister, Jeanne-Marie Littlejohn of La Rosiere, born in Avignon in 1875, and Frédéric Petitjean of La Rosiere, born in Vannes in 1876, authors of romance novels popular. Delly's novels, no known current players and ignored by the academic world, were extremely popular between 1910 and 1950, and were among the most successful in the global publishing at the time.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Delly

Leseproben

I

Handen The professor put his pen and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief.

It was finally over, the work on the origins of Germany, long and arduous work that it had taken years, cost and patient research was to give his name a European celebrity. Now he would be free to take rest, and perhaps the most peace of mind, give it the body the force lacked.

A shudder shook the whole.

The heat was unbearable, however, in this closed workroom doors and heavy curtains, crowded libraries and tables loaded with books. It was the austere retreat scientist ... also that of a man who suffered, who felt invaded, overwhelmed daily by more weakness.

In a weary gesture, the fine hand of Professor passed repeatedly in blond hair barely graying that crowned his high forehead. An unspeakable weariness read in his eyes, and for a moment, his eyes closed. But as soon as he straightened. Pushing an impatient gesture scattered manuscripts before him, he murmured:

- Am I going to let me go now? What have I tonight? I'm not sick, and even though ... I will certainly be better.

He got up and began pacing the room. His stature was outlined in a gigantic shadow on the wall illuminated by the office lighting. After a moment, he interrupted his walk and taking a photograph in the drawer of a secretary, he approached the light to watch.

It showed two young men fifteen years, a very thin, very blond, with a dreamy and gentle look; the other brown, the features of a remarkable regularity, the superb dark, deep and tender eyes, detecting an ardent soul. They stood affectionately leaning on each other, and the dreamy blonde put her hand in a gesture of loving protection, on the shoulder of her companion.

Despite the difference of years, it was easy to recognize in the first professor himself. His face, now pale and sunken, had retained its elegant cut, its fine features, her beautiful brow raised, and his eyes still had the same expression of grave kindness, quiet and proud intelligence. But in that moment, deep pain it read, as he examined the attractive and charming appearance of brown teenager.

- Bernhard, where are you now? muttered the teacher with a strange emotion. It is so long since I've seen you! ... Yes, years ago, and yet we were like brothers! We love each other...

He paused and anxiously ran his hand over his forehead as if to banish the haunting memories.

- But what have I tonight? He repeated, with a kind of anger. I am ridiculously low, even more morally than physically. Why think that ungrateful?

He put the photograph on the desk and resumed his slow walk. But he did not need the image to represent Bernhard, his cousin, his friend once so loved ... and now?

Well, Conrad Handen could not conceal the memory of one who had been for him the tenderest of brothers was still alive in him ... despite everything.

Twice cousins by their father and their mother, they had been brought together by the mother of Conrad since Bernhard was orphaned at the end of the cradle. Never brothers loved each other for a more lively affection. Very quiet, almost cold in appearance, Conrad had a loving and tender soul, and if its more positive mind was not able to follow his cousin on the high peaks which outweighed a strong heart and a passionate imagination, they don ' were nonetheless united unalterable friendship.

But there came a day when Bernhard, artist and poet, ideal researcher, left Germany in search of brighter areas of sun-drenched country, exhaling balmy effluvia still vibrant memories of the past. Successively, Asia Minor, Greece, Italy, Spain finally were visited by him. Despite the separation, the union remained as close between cousins, and she was until the day when Conrad received a letter of Valencia, and revealing each page an intimate and profound happiness. Bernhard informed him of his intention to ask the hand of a young Spanish of poor family and very modest, but perfectly honorable. So excited, he depicted the qualities of heart, intelligence, remarkable beauty of what would soon be his bride, and at the end only,

On receipt of this letter, Ms Handen inveighed in violent reproaches against whom she called her second son and flattered his vanity by its beauty and its brilliant gifts.

Conrad, he said nothing, but he felt deeply wounded in his brotherly affection, along with pride, very much alive in this quiet, gentle nature, revolted at the thought of such a misalliance. The Handen, ancient family of scholars, were also proud of their name as the noblest barons.

The young teacher went to Valencia. He saw Bernhard and quickly convinced of the futility of his attempts. This enthusiastic and ardent heart, once given, only resumed more.

- Choose between it and us! cried violently Conrad in a final interview. If you marry, it's over between us.

- Is ! Bernhard replied in a firm tone, but I found Marcelina wife of my dreams and I will not abandon and happiness.

Bright and hurtful words that escaped Conrad, Bernhard answered them angrily, and the two cousins parted completely irritated.

Bruised in his affection, wounded in his pride, Conrad left Valencia. He could, however, recognize the truth of Bernhard's assertions about Marcelina. His profession and his family, poor and obscure, were the only things that Handen could blame him, his repute is unassailable; but in their eyes, the obstacle was insurmountable. Since then, Conrad nothing more was heard of his cousin.

These were the memories that came back to mind the teacher while he paced his office. In vain he tried to chase them; they came in crowds, like the annoying black butterflies.

He approached the window and leaned his burning forehead against the glass. But again a shudder shook. Outside, the wind, cold, in the dark night, and was groaning painfully doors and windows. Slowly, the teacher came to his office ... But he stopped suddenly, listening. Harmony rose to him, a gentle complaint and tender, beautifully rendered by an artist's hand. She exhaled is in a delicate song, a touching simplicity, and died in an elusive agreement.

A transformation had taken place at the teacher. Now a happy and proud flame animated his eyes and a happy smile crossed his face as he murmured:

- As this child is gifted! It will be one of the first artists of our time, my Ary!

Six o'clock struck at the great carved clock. The professor quickly drew up the papers scattered and out of his office, he slowly descended. The cello had resumed his song, but closer, it seemed less mysteriously penetrating. Handen Conrad entered the vast room that was the study room and the place of his family reunion. Some young heads rose to the arrival of the father, then lowered once on the books and notebooks. Only a small blonde girl very, mild and delicate face, took the opportunity to remain the nose in the air, gazing at the play of light and shadow on the ceiling products by lamplight.

The teacher walked to the fireplace where a large chair was waiting in front of his wife. By the way, he put his hand in a caressing gesture on a thick brown hair with superb crêpelures. A short time, two dark gray eyes looked up at him, imbued with a passionate tenderness, then immediately lowered the drawing that drew a small brown and slender hand.

- Not too much work, Frederique, gently said the professor. I thought I told you not to draw the evening, girl.

- And I've said it! said the calm voice, slightly drawling Ms Handen. But it's a hard head that wants to do His will ... Frederique leave it and take your knitting.

The hand of the girl tightened on her pencil, but she continued quietly to trace his lines with impeccable correction.

- Well, Frederique! Professor said sternly.

She got up immediately and went to take in a basket started a knitting, then she sat down near the lamp. On this young face collided with traits that haughty expression and dark, we could discern no emotion, no sign of an internal struggle.

Professor sank into his chair, and his distracted gaze fixed upon the incandescent mass crumbling in the fireplace with a slight crunch. Before him, Ms Handen actively knitting. After a moment, without interruption, she asked:

- Where are you from your work, Conrad?

- It is finished, Emma, he said with a sigh of relief. Now I will rest a little because I got really overworked and I feel weak.

Ms Handen stopped working, and his pale blue eyes stared, a little worried about the emaciated face of her husband.

- You feel more tired, Conrad? therefore consult again, I beg you!

He shook his head. The heart disease from which he suffered was incurable, he knew, but he could live a long time ... or just as well die at once. The favorable alternative was not dependent on doctors, but only a quiet existence, smoothly too violent.

Again, complete silence fell in the room. The cello was silent in the next room, and a few minutes later, a teenager came in and walked slowly to the table where Frédérique worked. Without a word, he opened a notebook and began to write. The bright light of a lamp fell on this slim and pale, exact copy of the teacher. But blue eyes betrayed the proud look more ardent nature, more determined, more arrogant as that of Conrad.

In its place, the professor gazed with pride this wonderful crown, the many children so beautiful, so intelligent, that were his. How much envied! Yes, he was really a happy father. What did he want to? His happiness was complete. Yet he passed his hand over his forehead with a tired gesture. It was at his usual sign of suffering, legal or natural, and in fact, his face was not exactly that of a happy...