Section 1 of Farewell. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Farewell by Honoré de Balzac. Translated by Ellen Marrige. Section 1 Come, deputy of the centre, come along. We shall have to mend our pace if we mean to sit down to dinner when everyone else does, and that's a fact. Hurry up! Jump, Marrige! That's it! Well done!  These words were uttered by a sportsman seated much at his ease on the outskirts of the Forêt de Lila Donne. He had just finished a Havana cigar, which he had smoked while he waited for his companion, who had evidently been straying about for some time among the forest undergrowth. Four panting dogs by the speaker's side likewise watched the progress of the personage for whose benefit the remarks were made. To make their sarcastic import fully clear, it should be added that the second sportsman was both short and stout. His ample girth indicated a truly magisterial corpulence, and in consequence his progress across the furrows was by no means easy. He was striding over a vast field of stubble. The dried corn stalks underfoot added not a little to the difficulties of his passage, and to add to his discomforts the genial influence of the sun that slanted into his eyes brought great drops of perspiration into his face. The uppermost thought in his mind being a strong desire to keep his balance, he lurched to and fro like a coach jolted over an atrocious road. It was one of those September days of almost tropical heat that finishes the work of summer and ripens the grapes. Such heat forbodes a coming storm, and though as yet there were wide patches of blue between the dark rain clouds low down on the horizon, pale golden masses were rising and scattering with ominous swiftness from west to east, and drawing a shadowy veil across the sky. The wind was still, saving the upper regions of the air, so that the weight of the atmosphere seemed to compress the steamy heat of the earth into the forest glades. The tall forest trees shut out every breath of air so completely that the little valley across which the sportsman was making his way was as hot as a furnace. The silent forest seemed parched with the fiery heat. Birds and insects were mute. The topmost twigs of the trees swayed with scarcely perceptible motion. Anyone who retains some recollection of the summer of 1819 must surely compassionate the plight of the hapless supporter of the ministry who toiled and sweated over the stubble to rejoin his satirical comrade. That gentleman, as he smoked his cigar, had arrived by a process of calculation based on the altitude of the sun to the conclusion that it must be about five o'clock. Where the devil are we? asked the stout sportsman. He wiped his brow as he spoke, and propped himself against a tree in the field opposite his companion, feeling quite unequal to clearing the broad ditch that lay between them. And you ask that question of me! retorted the other, laughing from his bed of tall brown grasses on the top of the bank.  Why, Philippe, have you really forgotten your own language? You surely must have left your wits behind you in Siberia," said the stouter of the two, with a glance, half comic, half pathetic, at the guide-post, distant about a hundred paces from them. I understand," replied the one addressed as Philippe. He snatched up his rifle, suddenly sprang to his feet, made but one jump of it into the field, and rushed off to the guide-post. This way, Dalban, here you are. Left about," he shouted, gesticulating in the direction of the high-road. To Bayer and Lilladon, he went on, so if we go along here we shall be sure to come upon the cross-road to Casson. Quite right, Colonel, said Monsieur Dalban, putting the cap with which he had been fanning himself back on his head. Then forward, highly respected councillor, returned Colonel Philippe, whistling to the dogs that seemed already to obey him rather than the magistrate their owner. Are you aware, my lord Marquis, that two leagues yet remain before us, inquired the malicious soldier? That village down yonder must be Bayer. Great heavens! cried the Marquis Dalban, go on to Casson by all means, if you like, but if you do you will go alone. I prefer to wait here, storm or no storm. You can send a horse for me from the château. You have been making game of me, C.C. We were to have a nice day's sport by ourselves. We were not to go very far from Casson and go over ground that I knew. Instead of a day's fun you have kept me running like a greyhound since four o'clock this morning, than nothing but a cup or two of milk by way of breakfast. If you ever find yourself in a court of law I will take care that the day goes against you if you are in the right a hundred times over. The dejected sportsman sat himself down on one of the stumps at the foot of the guide-post, disencumbered himself of his rifle and empty game-bag, and heaved a prolonged sigh. O France, behold thy deputies! laughed Colonel de Sussis, poor old Dalban, if you had spent six months at the other end of Siberia as I did.  Come, march! he added. If you once sit down it is all over with you. I can't help it, Philippe. It is such an old habit in a magistrate. I am dead beat upon my honour if I had only bagged one hair, though. Two men more different are seldom seen together. The civilian, a man of forty-two, seemed scarcely more than thirty, while the soldier, at thirty years of age, looked to be forty at the least. Both wore the red rosette that proclaimed them to be officers of the Legion of Honor. A few locks of hair mingled white and black, like a magpie's wing, had strayed from beneath the Colonel's cap, while thick, fair curls clustered about the magistrate's temples. The Colonel was tall, spare, dried up, but muscular. The lines in his pale face told a tale of vehement passions, or of terrible sorrows. But his comrades' jolly countenance beamed with health, and would have done credit to an epicurean. Both men were deeply sunburnt. Their high gaiters of brown leather carried souvenirs of every ditch and swamp that they crossed that day. Come, come! cried Monsieur de Sussis, forward! One short hour's march, and we shall be at Casson with a good dinner before us. You never were in love, that is positive! returned the counsellor with a comically piteous expression. You are as inexorable as Article 304 of the Penal Code. Philippe de Sussis shuddered violently. Deep lines appeared in his broad forehead. His face was overcast, like the sky above them. But though his features seemed to contract with the pain of an intolerably bitter memory, no tears came to his eyes. Like all men of strong character, he possessed the power of forcing his emotions down into some inner depth, and perhaps like many reserved natures, he shrank from laying bare a wound too deep for any words of human speech, and winced at the thought of ridicule from those who do not care to understand. Monsieur d'Albonne was one of those who were keenly sensitive by nature to the distress of others, who feel at once the pain they have unwillingly given by some blunder. He respected his friend's mood, rose to his feet, forgot his weariness, and followed in silence, thoroughly annoyed with himself for having touched on a wound that seemed not yet healed. Some day I will tell you my story.  Today I cannot. They walked on in silence. As the colonel's distress passed off, the councilor's fatigue returned. Instinctively, or rather urged by weariness, his eyes explored the depths of the forest around them. He looked high and low among the trees, and gazed along the avenues, hoping to discover some dwelling where he might ask for hospitality. They reached a place where several roads met, and the councilor, fancying that he saw a thin film of smoke rising through the trees, made a stand and looked sharply about him. He caught a glimpse of the dark green branches of some furs among the other forest trees, and finally, a house, a house, he shouted. No sailor could have raised a cry of land ahead more joyfully than he. He plunged at once into undergrowth, somewhat of the thickest, and the colonel who had fallen into deep musings followed him unheedingly. I would rather have an omelet here, and homemade bread, and a chair to sit down in, than go further for a sofa, truffles, and bordeaux wine at Casson. This outburst of enthusiasm on the councilor's part was caused by the sight of the whiteened wall of a house in the distance, standing out in strong contrast against the brown masses of knotted tree-trunks in the forest. Aha! This used to be a priory, I should say. The Marquis d'Alban cried once more as they stood before a grim old gateway. Through the grating they could see the house itself standing in the midst of some considerable extent of parkland. From the style of the architecture it appeared to have been a monastery once upon a time. Those knowing rascals of monks knew how to choose a site. This last exclamation was caused by the magistrate's amazement at the romantic hermitage before his eyes. The house had been built on a spot halfway up the hillside on the slope below the village of Nerville, which crowned the summit. A huge circle of great oak trees, hundreds of years old, guarded the solitary place from intrusion. There appeared to be about forty acres of the park. The main building of the monastery faced the south and stood in a space of green meadow, picturesquely intersected by several tiny clear streams, and by larger sheets of water so disposed as to have a natural effect. Shapely trees, with contrasting foliage, grew here and there. Grottoes had been ingeniously contrived, and broad terraced walks, now in ruin, though the steps were broken and the balustrades eaten through with rust, gave to this sylvan Zebaid a certain character of its own. The art of man and the picturesqueness of nature had wrought together to produce a charming effect. Human passions surely could not cross that boundary of tall oak trees which shut out the sounds of the outer world, and screened the fierce heat of the sun from this forest sanctuary. What neglect, said Monsieur Dalbon to himself, after the first sense of delight in the melancholy aspect of the ruins in the landscape, which seemed blighted by a curse. End of Section 1. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Section 2 of Farewell. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Farewell by Honoré de Balzac. Translated by Ellen Marridge. Section 2. It was like some haunted spot shunned of men. The twisted ivy stems clambered everywhere, hiding everything away beneath the luxuriant green mantle. Moss and lichens, brown and grey, yellow and red, covered the trees with fantastic patches of colour, grew upon the benches in the garden, overran the roof and the walls of the house. The window sashes were weather-worn and warped with age. The balconies were dropping to pieces, the terraces in ruins. Here and there the folding shutters hung by a single hinge. The crazy doors would have given way at the first attempt to force an entrance. Out in the orchard the neglected fruit trees were running to wood. The rambling branches bore no fruit save the glistening mistletoe berries, and tall plants were growing in the garden walks. All this forlornness shed a charm across the picture that wrought on the spectator's mind with an influence like that of some enchanting poem, filling his soul with dreamy fancies. A poet must have lingered there in deep and melancholy musings, marvelling at the harmony of this wilderness where decay had a certain grace of its own. In a moment a few gleams of sunlight struggled through a rift in the clouds, and a shower of coloured light fell over the wild garden. The brown tiles of the roof glowed in the light, the mosses took bright hues, strange shadows played over the grass beneath the trees. The dead autumn tints grew vivid, bright unexpected contrasts were evoked by the light. Every leaf stood out sharply in the clear thin air. Then all at once the sunlight died away, and the landscape that seemed to have spoken grew silent and gloomy again, or rather it took grey soft tones like the tenderest hues of autumn dusk. It is the palace of the sleeping beauty, the counsellor said to himself. He had already begun to look at the place from the point of view of an owner of property. Whom can the place belong to, I wonder?  Just at that moment a woman sprang out from under a walnut tree on the right-hand side of the gateway, and passed before the counsellor as noiselessly and swiftly as the shadow of a cloud.  Hello, Dalbon! What is the matter? asked the Colonel. I am rubbing my eyes to find out whether I am awake or asleep, answered the magistrate, whose countenance was pressed against the grating in the hope of catching the second glimpse of the ghost. In all probability she was under that fig tree. He went on, indicating for Philippe's benefit some branches that overtopped the wall on the left-hand side of the gateway. She? Who? Ah! How should I know? answered Monsieur Dalbon. A strange-looking woman sprang up there under my very eyes just now. He added in a low voice. She looked to me more like a ghost than a living being. She was so slender, light and shadowy that she might be transparent. Her face was as white as milk.  She gave me a glance as she flitted by. I am not easily frightened, but that cold, stony stare of hers froze the blood in my veins. Was she pretty? inquired Philippe. I don't know.  The devil take dinner at Cassin, exclaimed the colonel. Let us stay here. I am as eager as a boy to see the inside of this queer place. The window sashes are painted red, you see. There is a red line round the panels of the doors and the edges of shutters. It might be the devil's own dwelling. Perhaps he took it over when the monks went out.  Come along! cried Philippe with forced gaiety. He had scarcely finished speaking when the two sportsmen heard a cry as if some bird had been taken in a snare. They listened. There was a sound like the murmur of rippling water, as something forced its way through the bushes. But diligently as they lent their ears there was no footfall on the path. The earth kept the secret of the mysterious woman's passage. If indeed she had moved from her hiding place. This is very strange, cried Philippe. Following the wall of the path the two friends reached before long a forest road leading to the village of Chauvry. They went along this track in the direction of the highway to Paris and reached another large gateway. Through the railings they had a complete view of the façade of the mysterious house. From this point of view the dilapidation was still more apparent. Huge cracks had riven the walls of the main body of the house built round three sides of a square. Evidently the place was allowed to fall to ruin. There were holes in the roof, broken slates and tiles lay about below. Fallen fruit from the orchard trees was left to rot on the ground. A cow was grazing over the bowling-green and trampling the flowers in the garden beds. A goat browsed on the green grapes and young vineshoots on the trellis. It is all of a peace, remarked the colonel. The neglect is in a fashion systematic. He laid his hand on the chain of the bell-pull, but the bell had lost its clapper. The two friends heard no sound save the peculiar grating creak of the rusty spring. A little door in the wall beside the gateway, though ruinous, held good against all their efforts to force it open. Oh, this is growing very interesting," Philippe said to his companion.   Then a woman, if so indescribable a being could be called a woman, sprang up from the bushes and pulled at the cord about the cow's neck. From beneath the crimson handkerchief about the woman's head, fair matted hair escaped, something as toe hangs about a spindle. She wore no kerchief at the throat, a coarse black-and-gray-striped woollen petticoat too short by several inches left her legs bare. She might have belonged to some tribe of redskins in Fenimore Cooper's novels, for her neck, arms and ankles looked as if they had been painted brick red.  Her pale bluish eyes looked out dull and expressionless from beneath the eyebrows, with one or two straggling white hairs on them. Her teeth were prominent and uneven, but white as a dog's. Hello, good woman, called Monsieur de Cici. She came slowly up to the railing and stared at the two sportsmen with a contorted smile, painful to see. Where are we? What is the name of the house, yonder? Whom does it belong to? Who are you? Do you come from hereabouts? To these questions and to a host of others poured out in succession upon her by the two friends, she made no answer save gurgling sounds in the throat, more like animal sounds than anything uttered by a human voice.  Minorites, the peasant woman said at last. Ah, she is right! The house looks as though it might once have been a minorite convent, he went on. Again they plied the peasant woman with questions, but like a wayward child she coloured up, fidgeted with her sabbou, twisted the rope by which she held the cow that had fallen to grazing again, stared at the sportsmen and scrutinised every article of clothing upon them. She gibbered, grunted and clucked, but no articulate word did she utter. Your name, asked Philippe, fixing her with his eyes as if he were trying to bewitch the woman. Geneviève, she answered with an empty laugh. The cow is the most intelligent creature we have seen so far, exclaimed the magistrate. I shall fire a shot, I ought to bring somebody out. D'Albonne had just taken up his rifle when the colonel put out a hand to stop him and pointed out the mysterious woman who had aroused such lively curiosity in them. She seemed to be absorbed in deep thought as she went along a green alley some little distance away, so slowly that the friends had time to take a good look at her.  Doubtless she was accustomed to the dishevelment of her locks, for she seldom put back the hair on either side of her brows.  In everything that she did, moreover, there was a wonderful certainty in the working of the mechanism, an unerring swiftness and precision, like that of an animal. Well, now I'm marvellous in a woman. The two sportsmen were amazed to see her spring up into an apple tree and cling to a bow lightly as a bird. She snatched at the fruit, ate it, and dropped to the ground with the same supple grace that charms us in the squirrel. The elasticity of her limbs took all appearance of awkwardness or effort from her movements. She played about upon the grass, rolling in it as a young child might have done. Then on a sudden she lay still and sketched out her feet and hands with the languid natural grace of a kitten dozing in the sun. There was a threatening growl of thunder far away, and at this she started up on all fours and listened, like a dog who hears a strange footstep.  The two witnesses of this singular scene wondered at the whiteness of the skin that shone like a meadow-daisy, and at the neck that indicated the perfection of the rest of her form. A wailing cry broke from her. She rose to her feet and stood upright. Every successive movement was made so lightly, so gracefully, so easily that she seemed to be no human being but one of Ossian's maids of the mist. She went across the grass to one of the pools of water, deftly shook off her shoe, and seemed to enjoy dipping her foot white as marble in the spring. Doubtless it pleased her to make the circling ripples and watch them glitter like gems. She knelt down by the brink and played there like a child, dabbling her long tresses in the water and flinging them loose again to see the water drip from the ends, like a string of pearls in the sunless light. She is mad, cried the counselor. A hoarse cry rang through the air. It came from Genevieve, and seemed to be meant for the mysterious woman. She rose to her feet in a moment, flinging back the hair from her face, and then the colonel and Dalbon could see her features distinctly. As soon as she saw the two friends, she bounded to the railings with the swiftness of a fawn. Farewell, she said in low musical tones, but they could not discover the least trace of feeling, the least idea in the sweet sounds that they had awaited impatiently. Monsieur Dalbon admired the long lashes, the thick dark eyebrows, the dazzling fairness of skin untinged by any trace of red, only the delicate blue veins contrasted with that uniform whiteness. But when the marquis turned to communicate his surprise at the sight of so strange an apparition, he saw the colonel stretched on the grass like one dead. Monsieur Dalbon fired his gun into the air, shouted for help, and tried to raise his friend. At the sound of the shot, the strange lady, who had stood motionless by the gate, fled away, crying out like a wounded wild creature, circling round and round in the meadow with every sign of unspeakable terror. Monsieur Dalbon heard a carriage rolling along the road to Lille-Aden, and waved his handkerchief to implore help. The carriage immediately came towards the minorite convent, and Monsieur Dalbon recognized neighbours, Monsieur and Madame de Cranville, who hastened to alight and put their carriage at his disposal. Colonel de Sussis inhaled the sorts which Madame de Cranville happened to have with her. He opened his eyes, looked towards the mysterious figure that still fled wailing through the meadow, and a faint cry of horror broke from him.  Monsieur and Madame de Cranville begged the councillor to make use of their carriage, adding very obligingly that they themselves would walk. Who can the lady be? inquired the magistrate, looking towards the strange figure. People think that she comes from Moulin, answered Monsieur de Cranville. She is a conteste de vendière. She is said to be mad, but as she has only been here for two months, I cannot vouch for the truth of all this hearsay talk. Monsieur d'Albon thanked Monsieur and Madame de Cranville, and they set out for Casson. It is she, cried Philippe, coming to himself. She, who? asked d'Albon. Stéphanie. Ah, dead and living still. Still alive, but her mind is gone. I thought the sight would kill me. End of section 2. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmeyer Surrey. Section 3 of Farewell This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Farewell by Honoré de Balzac. Translated by Ellen Marridge. Section 3. The prudent magistrate, recognising the gravity of the crisis through which his friend was passing, refrained from asking questions or exciting him further, and grew impatient of the length of the way to the chateau, for the change wrought in the colonel's face alarmed him. He feared lest the countess's terrible disease had communicated itself to Philippe's brain. When they reached the avenue at Liladin, d'Albon sent the servant for the local doctor, so that the colonel had scarcely been laid in bed before the surgeon was beside him. If Monsieur le colonel had not been fasting, the shock must have killed him, pronounced the leech. He was overtired, and that saved him. And with a few directions as to the patient's treatment, he went to prepare a composing draft himself. Monsieur de Sussis was better the next morning, but the doctor had insisted on sitting up all night with him. I confess, Monsieur le marquis, the surgeon said, but I feared for the brain. Monsieur de Sussis has had some very violent shock. He is a man of strong passions, but with his temperament the first shock decides everything. He will very likely be out of danger to-morrow. The doctor was perfectly right. The next day the patient was allowed to see his friend. I want you to do something for me, dear d'Albon," Philip said, grasping his friend's hand. Hason at once to the minorite convent, find out everything about the lady whom we saw there, and come back as soon as you can. I shall count the minutes till I see you again. Monsieur d'Albon called for his horse and galloped over to the old monastery. When he reached the gateway he found someone standing there, a tall, spare man with a kindly face, who answered in the affirmative when he was asked if he lived in the ruined house. Monsieur d'Albon explained his errand.   I fired into the air. If you had actually hit Madame La Contesse, you would have done less harm to her. Well, well, then, we couldn't either of us complain. For the sight of the countess all but killed my friend, Monsieur de Sucie. The Baron de Sucie, is it possible? cried the doctor, clasping his hands. Has he been in Russia? Was he in the Berezina? Yes, answered d'Albon. He was taken prisoner by the Cossacks and sent to Siberia. He has not been back in this country for twelve months. Come in, Monsieur, said the other, and he led the way to a drawing-room on the ground floor. Everything in the room showed signs of capricious destruction. Valuable china jars lay in fragments on either side of a clock beneath a glass shade which had escaped. The silk hangings about the windows were torn to rags, while the muslin curtains were untouched.  She is my niece. And though medical science is powerless in her case, I hope to restore her to reason. Though the method which I am trying is, unluckily, only possible to the wealthy. Then, like all who live much alone, and daily bear the burden of a heavy trouble, he fell to talk with the magistrate. This is the story that he told, set in order, and with the many digressions made by both teller and hearer, omitted. When, at nine o'clock at night, on the twenty-eighth of November, 1812, Marshal Victor abandoned the heights of Stujanka, which he had held through the day. He left a thousand men behind with instructions to protect, till the last possible moment, the two pontoon bridges over the Berezina that still held good. This rear-guard was to save, if possible, an appalling number of stragglers, so numbed with the cold that they obstinately refused to leave the baggage-wagons. The heroism of the generous band was doomed to fail, for unluckily the men who poured down to the eastern bank of the Berezina found carriages, caissons, and all kinds of property which the army had been forced to abandon during its passage on the 27th and 28th days of November. The poor, half-frozen wretches sunk almost to the level of brutes, finding such unhoped-for riches bivouacked in the deserted space, laid hands on the military stores, improvised huts out of the material, lighted fires with anything that would burn, cut up the carcasses of the horses for food, tore out the linings of the carriages, wrapped themselves in them, and lay down to sleep, instead of crossing the Berezina in peace under cover of night. The Berezina that even then had proved by incredible fatality so disastrous to the army. Such apathy on the part of the poor fellows can only be understood by those who remember tramping across those vast deserts of snow, with nothing to quench their thirst but snow, snow for their bed, snow as far as the horizon on every side, and no food but snow, a little frozen beetroot, horse-flesh, or a handful of meal. The miserable creatures were dropping down, overcome by hunger, thirst, weariness, and sleep, when they reached the shores of the Berezina, and found fuel and fire and vitals, countless wagons and tents, a whole improvised town in short. The whole village of Stujanka had been removed piecemeal from the heights of the plain, and the very perils and miseries of this dangerous and doleful habitation smiled invitingly to the Wayfarers, who beheld no prospect beyond it but the awful Russian deserts. A huge hospice, in short, was erected for twenty hours of existence. Only one thought, the thought of rest, appealed to men weary of life, or rejoicing in unlooked for comfort. They lay right in the line of fire from the cannon of the Russian left, but to that vast mass of human creatures, a patch upon the snow, sometimes dark, sometimes breaking into flame, the indefatigable grape-shot was but one discomfort the more. For them it was only a storm, and they paid the less attention to the bolts that fell among them, because there were none to strike down there save dying men, the wounded, or perhaps the dead. Strugglers came up in little bands at every moment. These walking corpses instantly separated and wandered begging from fire to fire, and meeting for the most part with refusals, banded themselves together again and took by force what they could not otherwise obtain. They were deaf to the voices of their officers prophesying death on the morrow, and spent the energy required to cross the swamp in building shelters for the night and preparing a meal that often proved fatal. The coming death no longer seemed an evil, for it gave them an hour of slumber before it came. Hunger and thirst and cold. These were evils, but not death. At last wood and fuel and canvas and shelters failed, and hideous brawls began between destitute latecomers and the rich already in possession of a lodging. The weaker were driven away, until a few last fugitives before the Russian advance were obliged to make their bed in the snow, and lay down to rise no more. Little by little the mass of half-dead humanity became so dense, so deaf, so torpid, or perhaps it should be said so happy, that Marshal Viktor, their heroic defender against twenty thousand Russians under Wittgenstein, was actually compelled to cut his way by force through this forest of men, so as to cross the bellicina with the five thousand heroes whom he was leading to the emperor. The miserable creatures preferred to be trampled and crushed to death, rather than stir from their places, and died without a sound, smiling at the dead ashes of their fires, forgetful of France. Not before ten o'clock that night did the Duke de Belluno reach the other side of the river. Before committing his men to the pontoon bridges that led to Zembin, he left the fate of the rear-guard at Stujanka in Ebley's hands, and to Ebley the survivors of the calamities of the bellicina owed their lives. About midnight the great general, followed by a courageous officer, came out of his little hut by the bridge, and gazed at the spectacle of this camp between the bank of the bellicina and the barrisoff road to Stujanka. The thunder of the Russian cannonade had ceased. Here and there faces that had nothing human about them were lighted up by countless fires that seemed to grow pale in the glare of the snow-fields, and to give no light. Nearly thirty thousand wretches, belonging to every nation that Napoleon had heard upon Russia, lay there, hazarding their lives with the indifference of brute beasts. We have all these to save, the general said to his subordinate. Tomorrow morning the Russians will be in Stujanka. The moment they come up we shall have to set fire to the bridge. So pluck up heart, my boy. Make your way out and up yonder through them, and tell General Forgne that he has barely time to evacuate his post, and cut his way through to the bridge. As soon as you have seen him set out, follow him down, take some able-bodied men, and set fire to the tents, wagons, caissons, carriages, anything and everything, without pity, and drive these fellows onto the bridge. Compel everything that walks on two legs to take refuge on the other bank. We must set fire to the camp. It is our last resource. If Berty had let me burn those damned wagons sooner, no lives need have been lost in the river except my poor pontooners, my fifty heroes, who saved the army, and will be forgotten. The general passed his hand over his forehead and said no more. He felt that Poland would be his tomb, and foresaw that afterwards no voice would be raised to speak for the noble fellows who had plunged into the stream, into the waters of the Bere Sina to drive in the piles for the bridges. And indeed only one of them is living now, or to be more accurate, starving, utterly forgotten in a country village. The brave officer had scarcely gone a hundred paces towards Stożanka, when General Eble roused some of his patient pontooners, and began his work of mercy by setting fire to the camp on the side nearest the bridge, so compelling the sleepers to rise and cross the Bere Sina. Meanwhile the young Ed Ducan, not without difficulty, reached the one wooden house yet left standing in Stożanka. So the box is pretty full, is it, mess-mate? he said to a man whom he found outside. You will be a knowing fellow if you manage to get inside. The officer returned, without turning round or stopping his occupation of hacking at the woodwork of the house with his sabre. Eliep, is that you? cried the Ed Ducan, recognizing the voice of one of his friends. Yes, ah ha! is it you, old fellow? returned Monsieur de Sussis, looking round at the Ed Ducan, who like himself was not more than twenty-three years old. I fancied you were on the other side of this confounded river. Do you come to bring a sweet-meat for dessert? You will get a warm welcome," he added, as he tore away a strip of bark from the wood, and gave it to his horse by way of fodder. I am looking for your commandant. General Ebley has sent me to tell him to file off to Zembin. You have only just time to cut your way through that mass of dead men. As soon as you get through, I am going to set fire to the place to make the move.  Your news has put me in a fever. I have two friends to bring through. Oh! But for those marmots I should have been dead before now, old fellow. On their account I am taking care of my horse instead of eating him. But have you a crust about you for pity's sake? It is thirty hours since I have stowed any vitals. I have been fighting like a madman to keep up a little warmth in my body, and what courage I have left. Poor Philippe! I have nothing, not a scrap. But is your general in there? Don't attempt to go in. The barn is full of our wounded. Go up a bit higher, and you will see a sort of pigsty to the right. That is where the general is. Good-bye, my dear fellow, if ever we meet again in a quadrille in a ballroom in Paris. He did not finish the sentence, for the treachery of the north-east wind that whistled about them froze Major Philippe's lips, and the aide de Carth kept moving for fear of being frostbitten. Silent soon prevailed, scarcely broken by the groans of the wounded in the barn, or the stifled sounds made by Monsieur de Sussis' horse crunching on the frozen bark with famished eagerness. Philippe thrust his sabre into the sheath, caught at the bridle of the precious animal that he had managed to keep for so long, and drew her away from the miserable fodder that she was bolting with apparent relish. Come along, Bichette. Come along.  There! Wait a little longer, and they will let us lie down and die, no doubt. And Philippe, wrapped in a police, to which doubtless he owed his life and energies, began to run, stamping his feet on the frozen snow to keep them warm. He was scarce five hundred paces away, before he saw a great fire blazing on the spot where he had left his carriage that morning with an old soldier to guard it. A dreadful misgiving seized upon him. Many a man under the influence of a powerful feeling during the retreat summoned up energy for his friend's sake when he would not have exerted himself to save his own life, so it was with Philippe. He soon neared a hollow where he had left a carriage sheltered from the cannonade, a carriage that held a young woman, his playmate in childhood, dearer to him than any one else on earth. END OF SECTION III Farewell by Honoré de Balzac. Translated by Ellen Marridge. Section IV Some thirty stragglers were sitting round a tremendous blaze, which they kept up with logs of wood, planks wrenched from the floors of the caissons, and wheels and panels from carriage bodies. These had been doubtless among the last to join the sea of fires, huts and human faces that filled the great furrow in the land between Stujanka and the fatal river. A restless living sea of almost imperceptibly moving figures that sent up a smothered hum of sound, blended with frightful shrieks. It seemed that hunger and despair had driven these forlorn creatures to take forcible possession of the carriage, for the old general and his young wife, whom they had found warmly wrapped in polices and travelling cloaks, were now crouching on the earth beside the fire, and one of the carriage doors was broken. As soon as the group of stragglers round the fire heard the footfall of the major's horse, a frenzied yell of hunger went up from them. A horse! they cried. A horse! All the voices went up as one voice.    Go and look for them.  Once, twice, will you get out of the way! returned a giant grenadier. You won't. All right then, just as you please! A woman's shriek rang out above the report. Luckily, none of the bullets hit Philippe, but poor Bichette lay in the agony of death. Three of the men came up and put an end to her with thrusts of the bayonet. Cannibals! Leave me the rug and my pistols! cried Philippe in desperation. Oh, the pistols, if you like! But as for the rug, there is a fellow yonder who has had nothing to wet his whistle these two days, and is shivering in his coat of cobwebs, and that's our general. Philippe looked up and saw a man with worn-out shoes and a dozen wrents in his trousers. The only covering for his head was a ragged foraging cap, white with rhyme. He said no more after that, but snatched up his pistols. Five of the men dragged the mare to the fire, and began to cut up the carcass as dexterously as any journeymen butchers in Paris. The scraps of meat were distributed and flung upon the coals, and the whole process was magically swift. Philippe went over to the woman who had given the cry of terror when she recognized his danger, and sat down by her side. She sat motionless upon a cushion taken from the carriage, warming herself at the blaze. She said no word, and gazed at him without a smile. He saw beside her the soldier whom he had left mounting guard over the carriage. The poor fellow had been wounded. He had been overpowered by numbers, and forced to surrender to the stragglers who had set upon him, and like a dog who defends his master's dinner till the last moment, he had taken his share of the spoil, and had made a sort of cloak for himself out of a sheet. At that particular moment he was busy toasting a piece of horse-flesh, and in his face the major saw a gleeful anticipation of the coming feast. The court de Vendière, who seems to have grown quite childish in the last few days, sat on a cushion close to his wife, and stared into the fire. He was only just beginning to shake off his torpor and of the influence of the warmth. He had been no more affected by Philippe's arrival and danger than by the fight and subsequent pillaging of his travelling carriage. At first Sussis caught the young countess's hand in his, trying to express his affection for her, and the pain that it gave him to see her reduced like this to the last extremity of misery. But he said nothing as he sat by her side on the thawing heap of snow. He gave himself up to the pleasure of the sensation of warmth, forgetful of danger, forgetful of all things else in the world. In spite of himself, his face expanded with an almost fatuous expression of satisfaction, and he waited impatiently till the scrap of horse-flesh that had fallen to his soldier's chair should be cooked. The smell of charred flesh stimulated his hunger. Hunger clamoured within and silenced his heart, his courage and his love. He coolly looked round on the results of the spoliation of his carriage. Not a man seated round the fire but a chaired the booty, the rugs, cushions, polices, dresses, articles of clothing that belonged to the Count and Countess or to himself. Philippe turned to see if anything worth taking was left in the Berlin. He saw by the light of the flames gold and diamonds and silver lying scattered about. No one had cared to appropriate the least particle. There was something hideous in the silence among those human creatures round the fire. None of them spoke, none of them stirred, save to do such things as each considered necessary for his own comfort. It was a grotesque misery. The men's faces were wrapped and disfigured with the cold and plastered over with a layer of mud. You could see the thickness of the mask by the channel traced down their cheeks by the tears that ran from their eyes, and their long, slovenly kept beards added to the hideousness of their appearance. Some were wrapped round in women's shawls, others in horsecloths, dirty blankets, rags stiffened with melting whore-frost. Here and there a man wore a boot on one foot and a shoe on the other. In fact, there was not one of them but wore some ludicrously odd costume. But the men themselves, with such matter for jest about them, were gloomy and taciturn. The silence was unbroken, saved by the crackling of the wood, the roaring of the flames, the far off hum of the camp, and the sound of sabers hacking at the carcass of the mare. Some of the hungriest of the men were still cutting tidbits for themselves. A few miserable creatures, more weary than the others, slept outright. And if they happened to roll into the fire, no one pulled them back. With cut and dried logic their fellows argued that if they were not teared, a scorching ought to be sufficient warning to quit and seek out more comfortable quarters. If the poor wretch woke to find himself on fire, he was burned to death, and nobody pitied him. Here and there the men exchanged glances, as if to excuse their indifference by the carelessness of the rest. The thing happened twice under the countess's eyes, and she uttered no sound. When all the scraps of horse flesh had been broiled upon the coals, they were devoured with a ravenous greediness that would have been disgusting in wild beasts. And now we have seen thirty infantrymen on one horse, for the first time in our lives, cried the grenadier who had shot the mare, the one solitary joke that sustained the Frenchman's reputation for wit. Before long the poor fellows huddled themselves up in their clothes, and lay down on planks of timber, on anything but the bare snow, and slept heedless of the morrow. Major de Soussi, having warmed himself and satisfied his hunger, fought in vain against the drowsiness that weighed upon his eyes. During this brief struggle he gazed at the sleeping girl who had turned her face to the fire, so that he could see her closed eyelids and part of her forehead. She was wrapped round in a furred police, and a coarse horseman's cloak. Her head lay on a bloodstained cushion. A tall astrakhan cap tied over her head by a handkerchief, knotted under the chin, protected her face as much as possible from the cold, and she had tucked up her feet in the cloak. As she lay curled up in this fashion she bore no likeness to any creature. Was this the lowest of camp followers? Was this the charming woman, the pride of her lover's heart, the queen of many a Parisian ballroom? Alas! Even for the eyes of this most devoted friend there was no discernable trace of womanhood in that bundle of rags and linen, and the cold was mightier than the love in a woman's heart. Then for the major the husband and wife came to be like two distant dots, seen through the thick veil that the most irresistible kind of slumber spread over his eyes. It all seemed to be part of a dream, the leaping flames, the recumbent figures, the awful cold that lay in wait for them three paces away from the warmth of the fire that glowed for a little while. One thought that could not be stifled, haunted, Philippe.  I will not sleep," he said to himself. He slept. After an hour's slumber, Monsieur de Cici was awakened by a hideous uproar and the sound of an explosion. The remembrance of his duty, of the danger of his beloved, rushed upon his mind with a sudden shock. He uttered a cry like the growl of a wild beast. He and his servant stood upright above the rest. They saw a sea of fire in the darkness, and against it moving masses of human figures. Flames were devouring the huts and tents, despairing shrieks, and yelling cries reached their ears. They saw thousands upon thousands of wild and desperate faces, and through this inferno a column of soldiers was cutting its way to the bridge between the two hedges of dead bodies. Our rear guard is in full retreat, cried the Major. There is no hope left. I have spared your travelling carriage, Philippe, said a friendly voice. Cici turned and saw the young Ed decan by the light of the flames. Oh! it is all over with us! he answered. They have eaten my horse. And how am I to make this sleepy general and his wife stir a step? Take a brand, Philippe, and threaten them. Threatened the Countess. Good-bye, cried the Ed decan. I have only just time to get across that unlucky river, and go I must. There is my mother in France. What a night! This herd of wretches would rather lie here in the snow, and most of them would sooner be burned alive than get up. It is four o'clock, Philippe. In two hours the Russians will begin to move, and you will see the beresina covered with corpses a second time. I can tell you, you haven't a horse, and you cannot carry the Countess, so come along with me," he went on, taking his friend by the arm. My dear fellow, how am I to leave Stéphanie? Major de Cici grasped the Countess, set her on her feet, and shook her roughly. He was in despair. He compelled her to wake, and she stared at him with dull, fixed eyes. Stéphanie, we must go, or we shall die here! For all answer the Countess tried to sink down again and sleep on the earth. The Ed decan snatched a brand from the fire, and shook it in her face. We must save her in spite of herself, cried Philippe, and he carried her in his arms to the carriage. He came back to entreat his friend to help him, and the two young men took the old general and put him beside his wife, without knowing whether he were alive or dead. The Major rolled the men over as they crouched on the earth, took away the plundered clothing, and heaped it upon the husband and wife. Then he flung some of the broiled fragments of horse-flesh into a corner of the carriage. Now what do you mean to do? asked the Ed decan. Drag them along! answered Susy. You are mad!  Suddenly a desperate plan occurred to him. Look you here! he said, grasping his sentinel by the unwounded arm. I leave her in your care for one hour. Bear in mind that you must die sooner than let anyone, no matter whom, come near the carriage. The Major seized a handful of the ladies' diamonds, drew his sabre, and violently battered those who seemed to him to be the bravest among the sleepers. By this means he succeeded in rousing the gigantic grenadier, and a couple of men whose rank and regiment were undiscoverable. It is all up with us, he cried. Of course it is, returned the grenadier, but that is all one to me. Very well, then, if die you must! isn't it better to sell your life for a pretty woman, and stand a chance of going back to France again? I would rather go to sleep, said one of the men, dropping down into the snow. And if you worry me again, Major, I shall stick my toasting-iron into your body. What is it all about, sir? asked the grenadier. The man's drunk. He is a Parisian, and likes to lie in the lap of luxury. You shall have these, good fellow, said the Major, holding out a reviere of diamonds. If you will follow me and fight like a madman. The Russians are not ten minutes away. They have horses. We will march up to the nearest battery and carry off two stout ones. How about the sentinels, Major? One of us three, he began. Then he turned from the soldier and looked at the Eddecon.  Ypollite nodded ascent. One of us, the Major went on, will look after the sentry. Besides, perhaps those blessed Russians are also fast asleep. All right, Major, you are a good sort. But will you take me in your carriage? asked the grenadier. Yes, if you don't leave your bones up yonder.  All right, said the grenadier. End of Section 4 They set out for the Russian lines, taking the direction of the batteries that had so cruelly raked the mass of miserable creatures huddled together by the riverbank. A few minutes later the hoofs of two galloping horses rang on the frozen snow and the awakened battery fired a volley that passed over the heads of the sleepers. The hoofbeats rattled so fast on the iron ground that they sounded like the hammering in a smithy. The generous Eddecon had fallen. The stalwart grenadier had come off safe and sound, and Philip himself received a bayonet thrust in the shoulder while defending his friend. Notwithstanding his wound, he clung to his horse's mane and gripped him with his knees so tightly that the animal was held as in a vice. God be praised! cried the Major when he saw his soldier still on the spot and the carriage standing where he had left it. If you do the right thing by me, sir, you will get me the cross for this. We have treated them to a sword dance, to a pretty tune from the rifle, eh? We have done nothing yet. Let us put the horses in. Take hold of these cords. They are not long enough. All right, grenadier, just go and overhaul those fellows sleeping there. Take their shawls, sheets, anything. I say, the rascal is dead! cried the grenadier as he plundered the first man who came to hand. Why, they are all dead. How queer! All of them. Yes, every one. It looks as though the horse-flesh à la neige was indigestible. Philip shuddered at the words. The night had grown twice as cold as before. Great heaven to lose her when I have saved her life a score of times already! He shook the countess. Stephanie! Stephanie! he cried. She opened her eyes. We are saved, madame. Saved! she echoed, and fell back again. The horses were harnessed after a fashion at last. The Major held his sabre in his unwounded hand, took the reins in the other, saw to his pistols, and sprang on one of the horses while the grenadier mounted the other. The old sentinel had been pushed into the carriage and lay across the knees of the general and the countess. His feet were frozen. Urged on by blows from the flat of the sabre, the horses dragged the carriage at a mad gallop down to the plain, where endless difficulties awaited them. Before long it became almost impossible to advance without crushing sleeping men, women, and even children at every step, all of whom declined to stir when the grenadier awakened them. In vain, Monsieur de Cici looked for the track that the rearguard had cut through this dense crowd of human beings. There was no more sign of their passage than the wake of a ship in the sea. The horses could only move at a foot pace and were stopped most frequently by soldiers who threatened to kill them. Do you mean to get there? asked the grenadier. Yes, if it costs every drop of blood in my body, if it costs the whole world, the Major answered. Forward, then, you can't have the omelet without breaking eggs! And the grenadier of the garde urged on the horses over the prostrate bodies and upset the bivouacs, and blood-stained wheels plowing that field of faces left a double furrow of dead. But in justice it should be said that he never ceased to thunder out his warning cry. Carion, look out! Poor wretches exclaimed the Major. But that way, or the cold, or the cannon, said the grenadier, goading on the horses with the point of his sword. Then came the catastrophe, which must have happened sooner but for miraculous good fortune. The carriage was overturned, and all further progress was stopped at once. I expected as much, exclaimed the imperturbable grenadier. How he is dead, he added, looking at his comrade. Poor Laurent, said the Major. Laurent, wasn't he in the Fifth Chasseur's? Yes, my own cousin. This beastly life is not so pleasant that one need be sorry for him as things go. But all this time the carriage lay overturned, and the horses were only released after great and irreparable loss of time. The shock had been so violent that the counters had been awakened by it, and the subsequent commotion aroused her from her stupor. She shook off the rugs and rose. Where are we, Philippe?" she asked in musical tones as she looked about her. About five hundred paces from the bridge. We are just about to cross the Beresina. When we are on the other side, Stéphanie, I will not tease you any more. I will let you go to sleep. We shall be in safety. We can go on to Vilna in peace. God grant you may never know what your life has cost. You are wounded, a mere trifle. The hour of doom had come. The Russian cannon announced the day. The Russians were in possession of Stujanka, and thence were raking the plane with grapeshot, and by the first dim light of the dawn the major saw two columns moving and forming above the heights. Then a cry of horror went up from the crowd, and in a moment everyone sprang to his feet. Each instinctively felt his danger, and all made a rush for the bridge, surging towards it like a wave. Then the Russians came down upon them, swift as a conflagration. Men, women, children and horses all crowded towards the river. Luckily for the major and the countess they were still at some distance from the bank. General Ebley had just set fire to the bridge on the other side. But in spite of all the warnings given to those who rushed towards the chance of salvation, not one among them could or would draw back. The Overladen Bridge gave way, and not only so the impetus of the frantic living wave towards that fatal bank was such that a dense crowd of human beings was thrust into the water as if by an avalanche. The sound of a single human cry could not be distinguished. There was a dull crash as if an enormous stone had fallen into the water and the beresina was covered with corpses. The violent recoil of those in front, striving to escape this death, brought them into hideous collision with those behind them who were pressing towards the bank, and many were suffocated and crushed. The Count and Countess du Vendier owed their lives to the carriage. The horses that had trampled and crushed so many dying men were crushed and trampled to death in their turn by the human maelstrom which eddied from the bank. Sheer physical strength saved the Major and the Grenadier. They killed others in self-defense. That wild sea of human faces and living bodies surging to and fro as by one impulse left the bank of the beresina clear for a few moments. The multitude had hurled themselves back on the plain. Some few men sprang down from the banks of the river, not so much with any hope of reaching the opposite shore which for them meant France, as from dread of the wastes of Siberia. For some bold spirit despair became a panoply. An officer leaped from hummock to hummock of ice and reached the other shore. One of the soldiers scrambled over miraculously on the piles of dead bodies and drift ice. But the immense multitude left behind saw at last that the Russians would not slaughter twenty thousand unarmed men too numb with the cold to attempt to resist them, and each awaited his fate with dreadful apathy. By this time the Major and his Grenadier, the old general and his wife, were left themselves not very far from the place where the bridge had been. All four stood dry-eyed and silent among the heaps of dead. A few able-bodied men and one or two officers who had recovered all their energy at this crisis gathered about them. The group was sufficiently large, there were about fifty men all told. A couple of hundred paces from them stood the wreck of the artillery bridge which had broken down the day before. The Major saw this and, "'Let us make a raft!' he cried. The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the whole group hurried to the ruins of the bridge. A crowd of men began to pick up iron clamps and to hunt for planks and ropes for all the materials for a raft in short. A score of armed men and officers, under command of the Major, stood on guard to protect the workers from any desperate attempt on the part of the multitude if they should guess their design. The longing for freedom which inspires prisoners to accomplish impossibilities cannot be compared with the hope which lent energy at that moment to these forlorn Frenchmen. The Russians are upon us. Here are the Russians. The guard shouted to the workers. The timbers creaked. The raft grew larger, stronger and more substantial. Generals, kernels and common soldiers, all alike bent beneath the weight of wagon wheels, chains, coils of rope and planks of timber. It was a modern realisation of the building of Noah's Ark. The young Countess, sitting by her husband's side, looked on, regretful that she could do nothing to aid the workers, though she helped to knot the lengths of rope together. At last the raft was finished. Forty men launched it out into the river, while ten of the soldiers held the ropes that must keep it moored to the shore. The moment that they saw their handiwork floating on the beresina, they sprang down onto it from the bank with callous selfishness. The Major, dreading the frenzy of the first rush, held back Stiffanie and the General. But a shudder ran through him when he saw the landing-place black with people, and men crowding down like play-goers into the pit of a theatre. It was I who thought of the raft. You savages! he cried. I have saved your lives, and you will not make room for me. A confused murmur was the only answer. The men at the edge took up stout poles, thrust them against the bank with all their might, so as to shove the raft out and gain an impetus at its starting upon a journey across a sea of floating ice and dead bodies towards the other shore. Tonner de Dieu! I will knock some of you off into the water if you don't make room for the Major and his two companions! shouted the Grenadier. He raised his sabre threateningly, delayed the departure, and made the men stand closer together in spite of threatening yells. I shall fall in! I shall go overboard! his fellows shouted. Let us start! Put it off! The Major gazed with tearless eyes at the woman he loved. An impulse of sublime resignation raised her eyes to heaven.  In the situation of the folk upon the raft there was a certain comic element. They might utter hideous yells, but not one of them dared to oppose the Grenadier, for they were packed together so tightly that if one man were knocked down the whole raft might capsize. At this delicate crisis a captain tried to rid himself of one of his neighbours. The man saw the hostile intention of his officer, collared him, and pitched him overboard. Ah! the duck has a mind to drink! Over with you! There is room for two now! he shouted. Quick Major, throw your little woman over, and come! Never mind that old dotard, he will drop off to-morrow. Be quick! cried a voice made up of a hundred voices. Come Major, those fellows are making a fuss, and well they may! The court de Vendière flung off his ragged blankets, and stood before them in his general's uniform. Let us save the count! said Philippe. Stiffani grasped his hand tightly in hers, flung her arms about, and clasped him close in an agonised embrace. Farewell! she said. Then each knew the other's thoughts. The court de Vendière recovered his energies and presence of mind sufficiently to jump onto the raft, with a Stiffani followed him after one last look at Philippe. Major, won't you take my place? I do not care a straw for life. I have neither a wife nor child nor mother belonging to me. I give them into your charge! cried the Major, indicating the count and his wife. Be easy! I will take as much care of them as of the apple of my eye! Philippe stood stock still on the bank. The raft sped so violently towards the opposite shore that it ran aground with a violent shock to all on board. The count, standing on the very edge, was shaken into the stream, and as he fell, a mass of ice swept by, and struck off his head, and sent it flying like a ball. Hey, Major! shouted the Grenadier. Farewell! a woman's voice called aloud. Farewell! by Honoré de Balzac. Translated by Ellen Marridge. Section 6 An icy shiver ran through Philippe de Sussis, and he dropped down where he stood, overcome with cold and sorrow and weariness. My poor niece went out of her mind. The doctor added after a brief pause. Ah! Monsieur he went on grasping Monsieur Dalbon's hand.  So young, so delicate! An unheard-of misfortune separated her from that Grenadier of the garde, Florio by name, and for two years she was dragged on after the army, the laughing-stock of a rabble of outcasts. She went barefoot, I heard, ill-clad, neglected, and starved for months at a time, sometimes confined to a hospital, sometimes living like a hunted animal. God alone knows all the misery which she endured, and yet she lives.  In 1816 the Grenadier of Florio recognized her in an inn in Strasbourg. She had just managed to escape from captivity. Some peasants told him that the counters had lived for a whole month in a forest, and how that they had tracked her and tried to catch her without success. I was at that time not many leagues from Strasbourg, and hearing the talk about the girl in the wood, I wished to verify the strange fact that had given rise to absurd stories. What was my feeling when I beheld the counters? Florio told me all that he knew of the piteous story. I took the poor fellow with my niece into Auvergne, and there I had the misfortune to lose him. He had some ascendancy over Madame de Vendière. He alone succeeded in persuading her to wear clothes, and in those days her one word of human speech, farewell, she seldom uttered. Florio set himself to the task of awakening certain associations. But there he failed completely. He drew that one sorrowful word from her a little more frequently. That was all. But the old Grenadier could amuse her, and devoted himself to playing with her, and through him I hoped. But here Stifany's uncle broke off. After a moment he went on again.  The mason thought of marrying her because she had a little bit of land, and for a whole year poor Geneviève was the happiest of living creatures. She dressed in her best, and danced on Sundays with Dalot. She understood love. There was room for love in her heart and brain. But Dalot thought better of it. He found another girl who had all her senses, and rather more land than Geneviève, and he forsook Geneviève for her. Then the poor thing lost the little intelligence that love had developed in her. She can do nothing now but cut grass and look after the cattle. My niece and the poor girl are in some sort bound to each other by the invisible chain of their common destiny, and by their madness due to the same cause. Just come here a moment. Look! And Stéphanie's uncle led the Marquis d'Albonne to the window. There, in fact, the magistrate beheld the pretty countess sitting on the ground at Geneviève's knee, while the peasant girl was wholly absorbed in combing out Stéphanie's long black hair with a huge comb. The countess submitted herself to this, uttering low-smothered cries that expressed her enjoyment of the sensation of physical comfort. A shudder ran through Monsieur d'Albonne as he saw her attitude of languid abandonment, the animal supineness that revealed an utter lack of intelligence. Oh, Philippe, Philippe! he cried. Past troubles are as nothing. Is it quite hopeless? he asked. The doctor raised his eyes to heaven. Good-bye, Monsieur, said Monsieur d'Albonne, pressing the old man's hand. My friend is expecting me. You will see him here before long. Then is it Stéphanie herself? cried Susie, when the Marquis had spoken the first few words. Ah, until now I did not feel sure, he added. Tears filled the dark eyes that were wont to wear a stern expression. Yes, she is the contestant Vendière, his friend replied. The colonel started up, and hurriedly began to dress. Why, Philippe, cried the horrified magistrate, are you going mad? I am quite well now, said the colonel simply. This news has soothed all my bitterest grief. What pain could hurt me while I think of Stéphanie? I am going over to the minorite convent to see her and speak to her, to restore her to health again. She is free. Ah, surely, surely happiness will smile on us, or there is no providence above. How can you think she could hear my voice, poor Stéphanie, and not recover her reason? She has seen you once already, and she did not recognise you. The magistrate answered gently, trying to suggest some wholesome fears to his friend, whose hopes were visibly too high. The colonel shuddered, but he began to smile again with a slight involuntary gesture of incredulity. Nobody ventured to oppose his plans, and a few hours later he had taken up his abode in the old priory, to be near the doctor and the contestant Vendière. Where is she? he cried at once. Hush! answered M. Fenja, Stéphanie's uncle. She is sleeping. Stay here, she is. Philippe saw the poor distraught sleeper crouching on a stone bench in the sun. Her thick hair, straggling over her face, screened it from the glare and heat. Her arms dropped languidly to the earth. She lay at ease, as gracefully as a fawn, her feet tucked up beneath her. Her bosom rose and fell with her even breathing. There was the same transparent whiteness as of porcelain in her skin and complexion that we so often admire in children's faces. Geneviève sat there motionless, holding a spray that Stéphanie Doubtless had brought down from the top of one of the tallest poplars.  She stared at M. Fenja and the colonel as they came up.  The air was scorching. The glittering particles of the stone bench shone like sparks of fire. The meadow sent up the quivering vapours that hover above the grass and gleam like golden dust when they catch the light, but Geneviève did not seem to feel the raging heat. The colonel wrung M. Fenja's hands. The tears that gathered in the soldier's eyes stole down his cheeks and fell on the grass at Stéphanie's feet. Sir, said her uncle, for these two years my heart has been broken daily. Before very long you will be as I am. If you do not weep, you will not feel your anguish the less. You have taken care of her, said the colonel, and jealousy no less than gratitude could be read in his eyes. The two men understood one another. They grasped each other by the hand again and stood motionless, gazing in admiration at the serenity that slumber had brought into the lovely face before them. Stéphanie heaved a sigh from time to time, and this sigh that had all the appearance of sensibility made the unhappy colonel tremble with gladness. Alas! M. Fenja said gently, do not deceive yourself, monsieur. As you see her now, she is in full possession of such reason as she has. Those who have sat for whole hours absorbed in the delight of watching over the slumber of some tenderly beloved one, whose waking eyes will smile for them, will doubtless understand the bliss and anguish that shook the colonel. For him this slumber was an illusion. The waking must be a kind of death, the most dreadful of all deaths. Suddenly a kid frisked in two or three bounds towards the bench, and snuffed at Stéphanie. The sound awakened her. She sprang lightly to her feet, without scaring away the capricious creature. But as soon as she saw Philippe, she fled, followed by her four-footed playmate to a thicket of elder trees. Then she uttered a little cry, like the note of a startled wild bird. The same sound that the colonel had heard once before, near the grating, when the counters appeared to M. Delbonne for the first time. At length she climbed into a labyrinum tree, ensconced herself in the feathery greenery, and peered out at the strange man, with as much interest as the most inquisitive nightingale in the forest. Fair well, fair well, fair well, she said, but the soul sent no trace of expression of feeling through the words, spoken with the careless intonation of a bird's notes. She does not know me, the colonel exclaimed in despair. Stéphanie, here is Philippe, your Philippe. Philippe! And the poor soldier went towards the labyrinum tree, but when he stood three paces away, the counters eyed him almost defiantly, though there was timidity in her eyes. Then at a bound she sprang from the labyrinum to an acacia, and thence to a spruce fur, swinging from bow to bow with marvellous dexterity. Do not follow her, said M. Folger, a dress in the colonel. You would arouse a feeling of aversion in her which might become insurmountable. I will help you to make her acquaintance and to tame her. Sit down on the bench. If you pay no heed whatever to her, poor child, it will not be long before you will see her come nearer by degrees to look at you. That she should not know me, that she should fly from me, the colonel repeated, sitting down on a rustic bench and leaning his back against a tree that overshadowed it. He bowed his head. The doctor remained silent. Before very long the counters stole softly down from her high refuge in the spruce fur, flitting like a will of the wisp, but as the wind stirred the boughs, she lent herself at times to the swaying movements of the trees. At each branch she stopped and peered at the stranger, but as she saw him sitting motionless, she at length jumped down to the grass, stood awhile, and came slowly across the meadow. When she took up her position by a tree about ten paces from the bench, M. Fonja spoke to the colonel in a low voice. Feel in my pocket for some lumps of sugar, he said, and let her see them. She will come. I willingly give up to you the pleasure of giving her sweet meats.  She never cared for sweet things when she was a woman, Philippe answered sadly. When he held out the lump of sugar between his thumb and finger, and shook it, Stiffanie uttered the wild note again, and sprang quickly towards him. Then she stopped short. There was a conflict between longing for the sweet morsel and instinctive fear of him. She looked at the sugar, turned her head away, and looked again like an unfortunate dog, forbidden to touch some scrap of food, while his master slowly recites the greater part of the alphabet, until he reaches the letter that gives permission. At length the animal appetite conquered fear. Stiffanie rushed to Philippe, held out a dainty brown hand to pounce upon the coveted morsel, touched her lover's fingers, snatched the piece of sugar, and vanished with it into a thicket. This painful scene was too much for the colonel. He burst into tears, and took refuge in the drawing-room. Then has love less courage than affection, Monsieur Fangiat asked him. I have hope, Monsieur le Baron. My poor niece was once in a far more pitiable state than at present. Is it possible? cried Philippe. She would not wear clothes, answered the doctor. The colonel shuddered, and his face grew pale. To the doctor's mind this pallor was an unhealthy symptom. He went over to him and felt his pulse. Monsieur de Sussis was in a high fever. By dint of persuasion he succeeded in putting the patient in bed, and gave him a few drops of lotinum to gain repose and sleep. End of Section 6 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey


Now gold down $40 would be bad folks, okay, but the bottom line is that you traded to 21, 52, 30 last night, overnight, the overnight session, and it just got smoked coming all the way down. That type of volatility folks, I suspect when you see that type of volatility in the gold market, I suspect we're going to get more volatility in the S&P. That's the bottom line. Now gold has a high volume high now, but the bottom line is that when you take out all the shots, what you're going to have there is that you're going to build cars before you get to a higher price. You got silver down 92 cents, 24.93, light sweet crude off 89 cents, $73.18 a barrel, boats and bonds, a 10-year notice down 16 ticks trade in 110.05, the 30 years down 19, at 117.18. Now here's some divergence, okay, they're both down a tremendously light of volume, and King Dollar. King Dollar is up about 433 ticks trade in 103.700 euros at 108, he ends at 147 British pounds at 126. Now that being said, what you also have is the spy has already rejected a lower price out here. So you got a lot of movements in here with a lot of different pieces, okay? The spy is only down three bucks, you're rejected 454, you're at 456. Now that being said, when you go to the Qs, and the Qs love leading the market, man, the Qs, different ballgame. The Qs are into the gap, and you're going to have an expansion with volume. So the Qs are down 447, the top of this gap is what, 385, you're talking about 378, you know? So my take care is that you got a slow turn, and number one, the end of the X100 wants to go fill that gap. The real question is going to be, does the S&Ps do the slow turn and come in and also want to fill that gap? Because that's a lot further down. We take a look at the dollar, the dollar, you know, still having a hard time getting any type of traction. Now the .382 retracement, however, on the dollar, you know, we're up by 454.21 today. When you do take a look at that .382, you're dealing with about a 104.363, and right now you're at 103.690. Stay right there folks, come right back.


Hi everyone, Joe for Jasper's casewrakes.com doing a random number block randomizer for the following group of teams right here That unlocks diamond icons picker team 14 coming up in a separate video. Here's how it all works You know about the redemption bit right here Big thanks to this group All fillers here. So congrats They're the numbers and let's roll it randomize it one and a two three times one two three It's Brandon down a Chad Let's assign you a number. Let's randomize you a number one and a two three times for the numbers one two and three Five down to seven All right Brandon with five Steve Locke with four Stephen K with eight Chad with two Travis with six Kevin with zero Russell with one Jeremy with nine Alan with three and Chad with seven Let's order these numerically and we'll see you in the next video For the break itself Jasper's casewrakes.com. Bye. Bye


We're excited that Rich Kleinman has joined us here in studio on the Michael K show and I've been calling him Kevin Durant's agent and You know we were talking as he sat down and rich. I want to tell you this story my late agent the first agent ever had and I would introduce people is my agent Steve Lefkowitz and he would go his friend Steve Lefkowitz I said really I don't pay all my friends 4% You paid him only four. Well, I was maybe four or five My diversity wouldn't go up an agent for 4% either What do you I mean? What do you prefer to be like friend to but I mean I feel like there's like this unfair Connotation lately behind the word agent for some reason. I always just felt uncomfortable with it You know like I I manage his career. We were business partners. I mean I'm his agent. I'm cool with that I just like if we're gonna be technical I figured I would just correct it Yeah, absolutely not rap or manager or business partner. Let's go a manager today Now manager manager, but you guys also share business. We share business. Yeah, which business? We have a company 35 ventures together and I manage him as well though. What is 35 ventures in tail? 35 ventures in tails. It's kind of become like the umbrella for our entire Business our enterprise our business interest So we have our media through there the boardroom and a few of other shows all of our tech investing Our brand work. We've a pretty robust foundation. We run under there. That's based out of Prince George's County where Kevin's from But but still the company there's a staff of like 15 the company also manages Kevin Durant's day-to-day life and day-to-day business. So We'll go with manager today. All right, so let's start with the question the white elephant in the room, okay? I don't even know how to feel about it rich That's why I'm so frustrated because I think it's cool that he engages on Twitter because we want our guys to be out There we want them to talk. Yeah, but I almost think that sometimes he's lowering himself by doing that What are your thoughts on his Twitter feuds that he has? Yeah, well, I mean my thoughts are that like it's kind of as in line with today's day is Anything else like the way I look at it is people always say to me like why is Kevin stooping to this level? Or why is Kevin engaging and my feeling is that like We all are Part of this epidemic right now. We're all on social media and some respect or some fashion We're all getting our information from it. Kevin is not affected by any of this Kevin is not up in arms over the comments He's reading Kevin is engaging and interacting like he's told all of you He's been doing for years like he enjoys doing it's entertainment for him truly and I think there's some that's No, no, this is a real radio. I thought it was hot 97 There So there's stuff there's stuff that like I think is ridiculous like I think the thing last night was ridiculous But in general Him answering For perk even speaking on him like at what point is Like Kevin's body of work and him as a basketball player Gonna be crystal clear to people that need to judge certain accolades or certain routes in which he took in their minds Like I just think Perk shouldn't be speaking on him Perk knows What kind of person Katie is Kirk Perk knows what kind of player Katie is Perk was there for and he also knows what kind of friend Katie's been to him You know what I mean? So I think it was ridiculous that he would speak on him to be honest like and I know that he didn't really like offer up Katie first he was talking but when he made that statement isn't that the point that I like Perk a lot But isn't that the point of the statement to point out the Russell Westbrook if you missed the statement that Russell Westbrook was the best player to ever Go through Oklahoma City. Yeah, isn't that it's inherently a shot? That's the interesting part, right? Well, it was inherently just pointless because it was Russell's night he deserved all the attention last night and That statement was probably said for no other reason but for what just ensued for more people to watch Perk on TV More people to click on on his Instagram or his Twitter page And there's some people that should be off limits from that and Perk knows that Perk knows that and Perk knows that KD Is like he's a made man now and I feel like all that same kind of Rhetoric about the route he took is like he's it's silly at this point Let's let's try to go to the foundation of why some people have the opinions that they do on KD on Twitter Yeah, and there's two of them really, you know the burner accounts and Him getting a headline changed in Oklahoma City I mean is it fair that those those two aspects kind of get people to say well He's sensitive begin with that's why he's going after people on Twitter because he can't handle the criticism No, is that is that a fair foundation? Let's just look at the the changing of the headline Is that is that a fact and is that something that I think people? I think having a burner account was like just mind-blowing to people and brand-new at the time But ask Rosenberg how many people in in in music and in the culture and hip-hop in basketball have burner accounts all of them Now KD really understands that this is like a sign of the times. I think he owned it I think that that was an odd situation at the time because people like it was new the way people reacting But Kevin owned it and I I understand Why like one's first reaction years ago when Kevin started this was like why are you stooping to this level? Or I see so many people worry about like Kevin's mind state It's it's silly to me like he performs at such a high level every single time he plays basketball He's proven on every court He's walked on that there is no player that he's inferior to like he's he's stood the test that have come to him And for me it was like yeah, Kevin is a sign of today. This is what it is like he is on social media That's what we do That's the the world we live in Kevin enjoys that banter and the people that go back and forth with him while they're insulting him They enjoy it and the people that cover it the next day. They enjoy it and all of us enjoy the headline in Oklahoma City though Which headline like no no years ago. You're unreliable. Yeah, yeah, but I mean but that that didn't affect him at all I mean I think he put up 40 the next day in the playoff game like that's the same thing you'd get in any city That was just it was brand new because it was like Sacrilegious to disrespect him at that time in Oklahoma City and that article just came out of nowhere some journalist If somebody in this business though, like a Kendrick Perkins type. Yeah clap that me Okay, and I really took offense to it. I pick up the phone and go. What are you doing? Why didn't he do that? Why does he have to make it public? Why air your laundry like that? Again because like well first of all I Think a lot of this is like there's no rules to social media And there's no rules to the way people engage in this climate We're in and you wouldn't do it because you probably necessarily and grow up on social media the way Kevin has right you don't Communicate with your fans the way Kevin does it's like in one hand We ask people to show so much of themselves on social media to promote their products Let us into their life to talk to them about behind the scenes photos everything that we Consume then when Kevin wants to have real-life dialogue back and forth with someone who started the dialogue on that forum People think it's ridiculous. Here's here's my take what gets me confused You know we use this line from Mike Greenberg who said was was against Kevin going on Twitter against Brandon Tierney He said Kevin Durant is in the clubhouse. He just had an eagle on 18. He's got the lead.  Why yeah, but here's the thing if if I called Kevin this morning, and he was like rich I can't Sorry, it's okay. This is tough like and I saw him affected by it in real life Mm-hmm. I would have a real-life conversation like why are you even sure and I'm sure you've dealt with artists By the way who have been that way yeah who were really couldn't handle it and I really struggled with it 1,000% but when I tell you that like Kevin completely separates these two things and I Understand why Mike Greenberg would say that understand why somebody that just wouldn't know I might say that I didn't grow up with this Yeah, and it's like it's so foreign to him to think about interacting with another athlete or another person But listen, there's a layer of it. That's entertainment for sure, right? There's a layer of it that like we all know we don't even know who's real or not on social media anymore We don't even know if the the cars that they're showing and the family they're showing is even theirs anymore No one knows so all of it is sprinkled in with a little bit of entertainment a little bit of like manufactured Just bored is this why he's doing nice that board he like again like I look at it as most people of his generation are on their phone the majority of the time there's apps They're using their social media properties. They're on there's businesses that they're analyzing up there's on there There's business partners are talking to women. They're talking to friends are talking to everything is on your phone Right. So if Kevin is on social media and somebody he knows especially well It's just pointlessly taking a gratuitous like little pot shot. He doesn't care He really doesn't care that's important to find out and that's why we had you on yeah Because the perception is that he does care otherwise he wouldn't engage But you telling us that he does it kind of just for entertainment Then that that changes it because this is what's so interesting about social media Michael and I are in social media And you're on social media Peters on social media, but we're all we're not on the all the same level I didn't grow up. Yeah, so my perception of going back at somebody is not that they're bored or entertaining They're just they're sensitive, but that they may not necessarily be the case if I do it I'm probably sensitive because I didn't grow up with it. Yeah, but when you grow up with it You're gonna use it differently than we use it. Yeah. Yeah, but look I'll put it this way He's not trying to entertain anybody else when I say it's right now It's that like that is in a lot of ways how people communicate and Kevin Durant is no different and I think that he really tries very hard to make it clear that like he Finds himself in those communities and there's a very safe place in a lot of ways to just be able to communicate We want another to be able to talk freely wearing a lot of times in his life He can't be able to just say directly what's on his mind being able to call perk while he's on TV All that is pointless and I think at the end of the day I don't even think perks should have been speaking on Kevin and that's exactly what the tweet was right like I don't think he Should have been speaking on Kevin I don't think Kevin's game should be spoken about by perk at this point And I think Russ's night should have been left alone and if you look at what Kevin writes back He writes things like you average three and two Back you know when you go to sleep at night, you're not really a champ. It's the weakest move now again I don't think it effect. I know it doesn't affect Kevin at all, but I just think that that was ridiculous But it's cool like it's all part of it I don't think Kevin's probably been thinking about it this afternoon And maybe there'll be another one tomorrow and the Brandon Tierney thing was funny, too Yeah, I thought the Brandon Tierney back for was good I've had no problem with what Kevin's done over the last few days I think it's been especially cuz I liked particularly him defending the nets as a team I thought that was actually a good way to ingratiate himself to a new fan base But a fan base that he did not ingratiate himself to was the Nick fan base when he came on he brought the morning We had him on and he said he did not believe the Knicks were a destination still in the NBA.  How do you see the Knicks organization right now? Versus how your client Kevin Durant sees them. I personally will forever think the Knicks are cool I think Madison Square Garden is cool. I Have always been a fan of the energy in there and some of the greatest moments of my entire life That I'll remember forever where when the Knicks were competing at the highest level and playing the Bulls and Pacers and Heed and All those play of series to find my childhood to me, but I wasn't a free agent You know, and it's like any other business transaction or business move that you you put in front of somebody What each situation comes with and what the benefits are and if somebody's looking for something in one of those situations That's where they go. The idea that like the Knicks are no longer in Attractive place to play. I don't agree with I think that there's a certain attention that they've gotten for a long time now Deservedly not deservedly at different times for different reasons the Knicks have been bad And there's been things that have brought unwarranted attention to the organization and warranted at times, right? But the Knicks are cool and Kevin knows I feel that way but like I think that Kevin was representing an overall consensus from a non-New Yorker perspective of What do the Knicks do to the layman to draw them in and it's not just like the Knicks in the bright lights now that they Can say it's not just that there's more to it. There's teams that are on national TV all year long There's proven track record of players playing in secondary markets making big business decisions and having big business I think what Kevin was basically saying was like that's not enough that's not enough to young players anymore to just like sell them on that and That is true, but I still think the Knicks are an incredible Destination and I still think the Knicks are an incredible team in place to play Let me throw this at you rich because it seems to be you know kind of thought and nobody ever really says it Did Kevin Durant not go to the Knicks because of Jim Dolan did he think that Jim Dolan is not a guy he wanted to play for no Do players think like that Jim Dolan is the reason I don't want to go to the Knicks. No, so why didn't Kevin go to the Knicks? What is there a specific reason? No But why did he go to the Knicks? This is where he wanted to play but he would have been in New York If he played for the Knicks and at Madison Square Garden rather than Barclay Center So yeah, I know but when when a decision is made To go do something in your life and to go play for an organization The different components to go into the decision when we as fans talk about it We stop at like one or two and those are like this would be so crazy He would resurrect a franchise. This is the greatest place to play None of that though comes into the thinking of somebody with that kind of resume and with that kind of mind And the what he looks for to make himself happy and the different things that he saw with the situation in Brooklyn We're just a better decision for him I think that it was just one of those situations where it was like somehow the narrative in the story had been created a lot of people think it was for Reasons that came from our side or people think it was reasons that came from like these behind-the-scenes Conversations and all of that is as ridiculous as any other headline that you read in the paper that people like try to create a narrative with the the truth is is The Knicks were a team that had cap space at the same time that the Nets were a team that had cap space and When Kevin looked at the landscape two of the teams that were in the kind of Opportunity zone first to say of where he could go happened to be both in New York And that created a lot of that kind of back and forth But the truth was Kevin saw the Nets is the best you try to convince them I because you are such a big Nick fan. Did you say Kevin go to the Knicks? I mean you again.  Yeah, but you can't make him do it. No, exactly Did you see we asked me real? Yeah, we had real conversations? We had real conversations at times about how I felt about what that opportunity Resurrected itself, but like at the same time I also know him and I'm also respectful of our partnership and I also present facts You know, I mean like it's my job to not get caught up in all that present facts But you're also talking about somebody that's performed at the highest level for so long has seen the league Way more than I have and has understood the ins and outs of the league that I can present it with that information and those facts But ultimately like he knows the best situation for himself And I think that that is somehow like really diminished in these conversations It's like idea like when one hand you see how players are Taking control of their brand taking control of their business They're empowering their situations to be where they want to be and then they say how could you let so-and-so go there like Kevin Durant makes he is the CEO of his own organization and his enterprise and he makes those decisions I present the facts and I give opinion, but at the end of the day he made the best decision How much do you think I replayed into the decision I? Mean I think that the two of them are friends the two of them wanted to play together And the two of them shared information that they had and that was proprietary to them You know I'm saying like they really they spoke about that together because there's a certain Connection and bond that the two of them as basketball players can understand when you're making a decision when you've won championships And you're making a decision at a certain point in your career where the things that you're looking for there's nothing that I could Really say to him that I could give a real Understanding to what it was that they were looking for right so I think that Kyrie played a part in it that they were friends And they communicated I think ultimately if it wasn't the right decision for any one of them individually They weren't gonna go somewhere because of the other person But I mean I think that all of these things play a part in the decision Just like it would for any decision any of us would make in our life or business like there is no one thing and it Definitely wouldn't be like you should go here because it's this arena or because this like Not at that level. No now. Do you believe that Kevin Durant is going to be Kevin Durant when he comes back? Yeah, and do you think there's a chance of come back this year?  There's no pressure on him from anybody's no expectation on himself He's just truly taking it day-to-day And I think after what happened and all the pressure around the summer in the situation He should take it day-to-day and he should just work How how happy for you personally and your wife and your kids how nice is it that he's in Brooklyn? You've been with him his whole career. You're not his whole career or not his whole career a lot of his career You were spending time in okc. Yeah, and then going to the Bay. Yeah all far away. This has been your home forever Yeah, how nice is it to just have him in Brooklyn? Incredible it's incredible to not travel as much. I'm like a born and bred New Yorker and I'm was never gonna leave New York I didn't move out of New York, but I spent a lot of time In the Bay more than I did when he was in Oklahoma City But that was also like the period in which our business Started to evolve and grow and I loved it there like I did love traveling, but I think wife and kids are happier I think I mean, but I think they look at me sometimes like they're cool if I try I think they may want me to Travel a little bit to be honest get you out of the house. Yeah, like all or nothing is a lot a lot of the narrative we're talking with rich climbing the Partner manager representative of Kevin Duran's a lot of people said the narrative out there rich is that He wanted a softer landing He didn't want the pressure of putting the whole mix on his back less intensity less media scrutiny any of that true No, none of that. No, I mean, I think again It's more about you add all the different ingredients with each situation And they all come to whether it's the right situation for you So no no way was he avoiding like pressure? I mean, that's the irony to me of the decision to play for the Warriors like To me that was his pressure filled as possible, you know Kevin was gonna like nothing about playing with that team, which was incredible made him Kevin Durant or allowed him to be a championship caliber player or allowed him to be an MVP caliber player He was that already so he went into a situation where unanimously everybody hated him Unanimously everybody questioned it and he had to go there and he had to finish his breakfast There was he couldn't do anything but win a championship And then you know what he actually had to win the MVP and then he actually had to win a championship again Then he actually had to win the MVP again And he actually had to get hurt on the main stage the NBA finals for people to really then start to even change the narrative a little bit And that pressure is that's the pressure. What what pressure in New York could have been more than that Was he done wrong rich? When he played should he had not have played was he forced to play by the Warriors? No Where did that narrative come from that the same narrative of all the other things we're talking about though That's the word narrative and it didn't come from it didn't come from Anyone in the Warriors organization. It definitely didn't come from anyone within our group and organization I think Kevin has said it over and over again and at times I almost fell bad for some of the individuals that he was so close with who were getting some of that heat But no not at all. He made that decision. You know what bothered me the most and it was for you I forget who it was. I think it was an agent who like said something about you if I was his agent I wouldn't have let him play. Yeah, you could my friend. That was my friend said, yeah But I could you tell Kevin Durant not to play Kevin Durant has to play if he wants to play so let's talk about it That's probably the same thing maybe not you but it's no different than people saying to me How could you let him go to the Nets and not the Knicks all of that is so insulting in a lot of ways Some so these players right Babies yeah, or that like and whatever agent said that I get it the intensity the next day I get all of it I don't take any of it personally and of course I'm sitting there beating myself up as if did I not do something or did I not say something But I but I quickly knew that wasn't true and Kevin such an incredible dude that like in the fire of all that He wanted to make it crystal clear to the people around him like I chose to do this I get it and he said that to everyone to think he was calming people down that night It was he was like the voice of reason for people. So I mean yeah, it's crazy Of course, I couldn't have like kept him or made him and that's just not the way people asked you what would you have said? Well, we did talk about it. Did he ask you should I play no not like directly like that? Yeah, well, I saw you I saw you that night though before the game. Yeah, and we were talking I was like so well, how does he feel like and you were like he feels great He feels ready to go. Yeah, and you seemed really upbeat not particularly nervous He seemed the same way so I'm guessing when you talked about it He told you he's a hundred percent fine or so we felt yeah, but it's not like This isn't like we're at gym class and we're like hey Kevin you feeling better come on to the court Like this is like multiple doctors looking at scans and x-rays multiple opinions a diligent warrior staff An athlete that knows his body and knows what he needs to do to perform at a certain level and honestly like he would have Destroyed if he didn't play he was already getting destroyed for Whatever narrative was being created that he was avoiding playing because he was leaving the bottom line is this he is he has an amazing ability To stay laser focused and when you simplify things at times and he's like I'm a Hooper. I'm a ball player I play ball I play on every stage possible roll out the ball. I'm gonna play with everybody. I'm clear to play I feel good. I'm playing basketball now. You said that you take some phone calls. You sure you want to do this Yeah, all right 1-800-919-3776. We're talking with rich climb and now you can as well You have the number. What are your thoughts nick fans net fans? He'll answer any question you have and that's coming up in just a second Peter No, but you just look at it. Maybe I'm just like me or I'm just looking you with a face that says look at the guests I delivered today.