But I had gone on a few steps, and came in sight, by the faint rays of
the lamp, of a pale, delicate figure seated in a Gothic chair not far
from the sick man. It was Odile of Nideck. Her long black silk dress, her
gentle expression of calm self-devotion and complete resignation, the
ideal angel-like cast of her sweet features, recalled to one's mind those
mysterious creations of the pencil in the Middle Ages when painting was
pursued as a true art, but which modern imitators have found themselves
obliged to give up in despair, while at the same time they never can
forget them.
I cannot say what thoughts passed rapidly through my mind at the sight
of this fair creature, but certainly much of devotion mingled with my
sentiments. A sense of music and harmony swept sadly through by soul,
with faint impressions of the old ballads of my childhood--of those pious
songs with which the kind nurses of the Black Forest rock to peaceful
sleep our infant sorrows.
At my approach Odile rose.
"You are very welcome, monsieur le docteur," she said with touching
kindness and simplicity; then, pointing with her finger to a recess where
lay the count, she added, "There is my father.
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