Annonciade E-Book

Delly

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 215

Beschreibung

Wennael was thinking of Annonciade's love, of her radiant beauty. A intoxication invaded her. But she was mixing with an embarrassing and unknown feeling that looked like remorse..." By play, the superb and whimsical Marquis Wennaël de Pennelon has fun disturbing Annonciade. The naive and pure Annunciation that derives its inimitable grace from Greek ancestry.... Will she succeed in chaining this fickle heart? Wennael soon returned to his brilliant and shallow life, leaving the girl deeply wounded. A few months later, in Brittany, they met again by chance. Wennael comes out of a tragedy, desperate. He was seriously wounded, injured in the eyes.... No faith supports him in his ordeal. Annonciade believes she has stopped loving this man more than ever cynical in his suffering.... Will she flee from him one evening, when she sees Wennael's high silhouette coming forward in the twilight of the Breton sky?

Leseprobe

Annonciade

Pages de titreFirst partIIIIIIIVVVIVIISecond partI - 1II - 1III - 1IV - 1V - 1VI - 1VII - 1VIIIIXXXIXIIXIIICopyright

Delly

Annonciade

First part

I

The flies were flying in the air sweet smelling eucalyptus and pine. One of them grazed the tall, thin nose Mr. Labarède and landed on the balding, old ivory color. Ms. Labarède rose slightly in his chair, pointing to expel unwelcome. This movement awakened the sleeper. Two good gray eyes appeared, all smiles in the face by sharp edges on which the skin folds closed menus.

- What is it, Rose?

- A fly was bothering you, darling.

- Ah! the little rascal!

He chuckled and straightened by bringing forward his gray cloth cap.

Ms. Labarède interrupted caught the knitting book that would slip from his lap. Her beautiful black eyes remained bright Provencal in the yellowish complexion dullness that was fading. They left always reflected his wife tenderly, this great love quiet and confident that nothing had come to attack, in forty-five years of living together. A kindly smile mischievous half opened wide lips between which appeared the very beautiful teeth again, very white with the always bright pink lips.

- What a great nap you did! In truth, you were sleeping like a blessed! Without this fly ...

- She is right. It's time to go to work, my dear Rose.

He rose with difficulty, muttering:

- Oh ! rheumatism these devils!

Its large size thin stood still right at ease in a wide garment drab, a little worn. The old man stretched his arms, cracked his knuckles.

- I'm getting old, my Rose. Long gone are the days when we were dancing the dance of the farmhouse Ouyolles, at your uncle Theophilus!

She sighed:

- Yes, it is far!

Black eyes became melancholy. Mr. Labarède stretched his long bony fingers and placed them on the gray hair of his wife.

- We are beloved. We will love us until the last day. And we were happy after all, Rose, as God has left our Madeleine.

- Our beloved daughter!

The wrinkled face quivered, tears appeared under the withered eyelids.

- ... But God knows what he does. Madeleine would have suffered from the weakness of character, the nonchalant selfishness of Conan. She left this world after a year of marriage, still having preserved almost all its illusions. May the Lord be praised! ... And she left us as a consolation daughter, our little Annunciation.

The sad eyes of Mr. Labarède smiled at the name.

- Yes, Annunciation, our darling, so good, so nice. His twenty years will ring, Rose. It will soon consider marrying.

- We have time, my friend. I am so afraid, you see! Our beautiful child, so pure, so loving, so it will give it to a stranger, perhaps, will be one of these unworthy men as there are too many! Ah! the nights I do not sleep, I think of this marriage of Annunciation, I tremble and I pray God to put in his path one who will understand it, love it as it will be loved for her happy.

- Yes, me too, I think of it often. But you see, I would like to see the child soon established, because after us she would remain single - or at least, she would not have her father and her stepmother. But Conan poor crank it would make any wedding. As for his wife, she is unknown.

A sigh swelled chest Ms. Labarède.

- We are old, it's true. From one day to another, we miss the poor little ... Oh! I think about all this, Pascal, I assure you!

Between the light foliage and yellow puffs of large mimosa planted in the corner of the terrace, the vibrant clarity of the southern sun stretched on old moved faces on the garment worn by Mr. Labarède and black dress, slightly greenish , of his wife. Perfumes passed around them, coming from the nearby pine forests and plantations in terraces which formed the garden of the country house Sainte-Marie, the small property of Mr. Labarède, situated at the foot of the wooded mountain between Cannes and Antibes.

Before the house, a modest building with a pink baked by the sun, lay a paved terrace partly, that where there were now husband and wife. We discovered there the Gulf of Napoule, the bay of Antibes, Villefranche - fluid gold vision, burning blue, gently burning light at noon, turning off the lights or relaxing evening becoming flame and purple on dark cliffs of the Esterel. The lower noise, elegant and cosmopolitan shore died in the large bright space without reaching up to the solitude in which lived the old couple, their granddaughter Annunciation and their fifties servant.

In the sunny day, Mr. Labarède descended the narrow stone steps that led to the plantations. Of these, the old man occupied assiduously with the help of a boy from the village. At the time of orange blossoms, he took a few people for the picking. This garden brought him a small income, the absence, in bad years, was felt in the modest budget.

On one of the terraces, the larger, extended planting orange trees. In a small oval basin shining green and shivering water, fed through a pipe of large cemented basin from above. Close by, a girl kneeling picking daffodils. She turned her head a little on hearing the not Mr. Labarède and deep sweetness of her beautiful eyes brightened a very gay smile.

- You did not finish your collection, Annunciation?

- If ... grandfather ... two or three more ... Voila!

She sat in a flexible and swift movement of his whole young graceful body. The light illuminated the delicate contours, the matte whiteness of his face which rode a little heat. His hands were holding a bouquet of daffodils whose perfume spread around it, in the warm air.

- I'll bring the flowers to the church. You have no commission to the village?

- Nothing, cute.

- So, just now, Grandpa.

Mr. Labarède reached out and gave a hug with brown hair that waved so beautifully on the cutting head of Annunciation. The girl bent down, kissed the wrinkled forehead, then went up to the house. She had a slight appearance, harmonious forms, and grandfather, looking away, thinking:

"His distant Greek descent saw in it. It is a true daughter of Provence, our Annunciation. "

Passing on the terrace, Annunciation inquired of Ms. Labarède commissions; after which, having put a hat, she left the house and stood on the gravel path leading to the village, along the plateau between plantations in bleachers and sparse woods.

The house of Mr. Labarède did not occupy the entire width of the garden. A small pit, which sprang between roses hairy trunk of a phoenix separated forming a pavilion angle, which remained uninhabited. The long branches of a glycine embraced its old walls whose decrepitude concealed partly in light leaves. Two years ago, Mr. Labarède had leased wintering lovers of solitude. Since he had not recovered from tenants. But the sign was still always there, quietly hung in the corner of a window.

Annunciation when leaving the house, a stranger had stopped in the road and saw the small building surrounded by light. He turned at the sound of the closing door. Annunciation saw that he was young, tall, very distinguished appearance. It was all she could notice before passing the unknown that deviated by lifting his hat.

She thought:

"If it could be a tenant! Grandfather has needed a new suit and grandma dragged on for too long her old dresses. "

His eyes smiled at the prospect of some well-being in the modest existence of the old dear.

The warm light flowed on the terraces, the side of the plateau, and the blonde warming earth that crackled. The small bell tower buckwheat St. Martha stood in the soft winter light old stones weathered by centuries. Between two gardens planted with orange trees, the path ended abruptly at the first houses of the village. Annunciation passed the dazzling light in the cool shade of the house close that left them a narrow path, where water slid in a thin stream along a gutter. Women chatting on the threshold of the house, wished Provencal hello to the girl. They had in holding, in manners, carelessness usual in these southern races, for whom existence is softer and living carelessly amid perfumes, under a bright sky. The houses, very old, had black walls cracked, narrow openings to condense the shade, the coolness inside, the days of summer. Of course, after a passage of small overhanging stone arches crumbled, sank into a dark sometimes crossing a reflection of light. The street was rising, turned a little and uncorked a small square where the red walls of the church amounted to.

The shade, confined between the neighboring houses and garden walls, stretched to their base freshness. The time had streaked countless notches such deep wrinkles in an old face. Above the arch projecting from the entrance, a niche was opened, which is home to a small gray statue - that of St. Martha, miraculously discovered, long ago, in the place where was built shortly after the 'church.

Annunciation pushed the leaf of a faded brown, which creaked at length. The interior disappeared in a cold dark almost as gray glass narrow windows let through a vague reflection of day. But Annunciation, without hesitation, stepped into the aisle formed between the old benches of wood tarnished, worn by generations who were kneeling there to pray, to shout their suffering and ask for strength to live. She genuflected before the altar placed very poor in the small choir, where two small stalls were facing, and closed a humble wooden railing. Then she walked to the left chapel dedicated to St. Martha.

Host of Sauveur appeared in a framed table strong wood manhandled by worms and suspended above the altar. The painting had been achieving for years. The face of Christ, that of Madeleine, not distinguished more. But the figure of Marthe, round and smiling, the top of her dress, a faded blue, the dish she was holding in his hands emerged from all this greenish cracks disappeared under which the rest of the Gospel scene.

Annunciation arranged the daffodils in a large earthenware vase on the small altar. She smoothed a little over blue cloth very faded where moths were each been some havoc, put in balance the tarnished candlesticks placed askew by the sacristan. His movements were gentle and respectful to those old things without value their destination and the divine presence nearby sanctified to him. Then she returned to the benches and knelt, forehead in his hands.

The creak of the door opening, the dull sound of a step on the pavement, not disturbed his meditation. When the prayer ended, she stood up and turned away, she saw, in the dim light, elegant silhouette abroad arrested earlier outside the pavilion.

As he stood in the small alley, he had, once again, stepping back to let Annunciation.

The girl thought, while leaving the church:

"Sainte Marthe me she will answer? This gentleman he will rent the pavilion? "

She did her shopping in the village, a few lingered in is a sick old woman and came home as the sun was already bowed off the dazzling sea. Mr. Labarède appeared in the living room of the threshold. His old animated face revealed great satisfaction.

- Darling, guess what happens to us?

- A tenant, Grandpa!

He opened his eyes wide in amazement sign.

- How, then, right away, you found?

She laughed merrily.

- But yes ! And even, I can describe about this tenant: a young man, tall, very good appearance.

- You met him, then?

- Precisely. He looked at the pavilion when I came out, and in the church, I saw him again ... So he hired?

Ms. Labarède appeared behind her husband. It was she who replied:

- Yes, my dear, and without discussing the price that it was your grandfather. At this time of year, it's unexpected!

- I think so ! What luck, grandma! ... Was it the family, sir?

- No, he is alone. In Cannes, he got off at the California Hotel. His valet will take care of its service, but we will provide meals. He said he was not difficult and prefer a simple and healthy food to complicated dishes. Besides, Azalaïs kitchen perfectly when she wants!

Mr. Labarède added:

- He seems very well, very great lord. Pretty cold, but polite and not poseur. It is called the Marquis de Pendelon, and it is a Breton. Our lodge looked him realize what he wanted, that is to say a retreat where his many worldly relationships and leave the rest where he could take care of paint and take long solitary walks.

While the old man spoke, Annunciation got rid of its menus packets and removed his hat. By hanging it on a hook, she asked:

- And when he will take possession of his domain, Marquis Pendelon?

- In eight days. By then, his domestic rise of Cannes to organize its installation.

- And it will ...?

- He does not know it yet. But he pays me a quarter anyway.

- It's very pretty, this grandfather! See how good this St. Martha protect us!

With a gay smile, Annunciation bent to kiss Mr. Labarède. The clarity of the setting sun through the open door into the hall, spread over brown hair and young face happy.

- Now, we have to take care of cleaning the pavilion. It will not be long, because we kept in good condition. I'll give a look tonight and tomorrow we will get there, and I Azalaïs.

Ms. Labarède eyes followed the girl walked away. Mr. Labarède rubbing against one another his dry hands deformed rheumatism. He said cheerfully:

- That's a good deal and very unexpected! We will put this money aside to add to the dowry of Annunciation.

Ms. Labarède made to head in a sign of approval. Then she objected, hesitantly:

- This gentleman is young ... We may have been wrong, because of the small ...

Mr. Labarède, index, slowly stroked his unshaven chin.

- Of course it is annoying to have a foreigner so close, and at home, so to speak, as we give him the pleasure of the garden. But Annunciation is very simple, very serious. He seems very proper ...

- That did not stop to find our little pretty. And he is very handsome. His eyes, especially ... Did you notice?

- Yes. But, my good darling, you had to think earlier that! Now the deal is done.

- I have not thought of yet. You know, we always see in a girl Annunciation. But, on reflection, I think it is perhaps unwise, what we do here

- No, I think there is nothing to fear, given the child's character. Meanwhile, we will be watching, if he would try to turn it around. Come on, do not worry, my dear Rose, everything will be fine.

Ms. Labarède nothing better than to be persuaded. Once again, she let herself be influenced by the kind and sometimes reckless optimism only rarely abandoned the good Mr. Labarède. If a little fear sometimes came to him in the following days, it does not stop there and joined effortlessly to the satisfaction of her husband and of Annunciation, as naively delighted with the other of the unexpected windfall.

II

M. Pendelon sat quietly, eight days later, in the small house furnished with some beautiful Provencal furniture and cretonnes a bit faded, but tastefully chosen. His valet, a Briton of fifty years, correct and taciturn, had come previously to Mr. Labarède permission to pick some flowers, "Mr. Marquis magnet to have always about him." The old man, eager to please his host, sent Annunciation wearing a pavilion wallflowers basket and carnations. As the servant confessed to the girl that his master is always impatient of his distaste for arranging the flowers, it was she who undertook this task. She acquitted probably to the satisfaction of the new tenant, because the next day, the valet, meeting her in the way,

- The Marquis asked me to thank Miss for the pain she has given, arranging the flowers so.

He seemed at once to M. de Labarède Pendelon would not be an annoying neighbor. Every morning and afternoon, he went for a walk with his dog, a greyhound with a pale gray dress. He came home late, dined and lingered until after midnight on the terrace, in readings or solitary reveries. Sometimes, after the meal, he was smoking a cigarette in the garden. He saw Ms. Labarède or Annunciation, he greeted them with a somewhat haughty courtesy, not to mention them. If he met Mr. Labarède he addressed some words to him, questioned him about the country, its customs, first with a kind of condescension, and soon with genuine interest.

Because he discovered that this old man with modest mine who grew so his garden, was a scholar. Former literature teacher in a religious institution, Mr. Labarède had written a book on the origins of Provence worthy of the votes of the Academy, about fifteen years ago. He continued to keep abreast of the work of others and to cultivate his beloved Greek and Latin classics. M. Pendelon, fine scholar himself, declared himself delighted at such a discovery. For his part, Mr. Labarède did not conceal his satisfaction to find in him a current partner of the major intellectual productions of all times. But it was enough to finish to make him sympathetic stranger whose proud and subtly flirtatious gaze had seduced at first sight.

One afternoon, in response to a request from its host, Mr. Labarède brought him his book on Provence. They talked long enough, sitting in front of the pavilion. Near them, on the non-paved terrace that side, stood the gray trunk of a eucalyptus and the air was scented perfume of delicate long fragrant leaves, swaying in the breeze coming from the sea. A slight shadow s 'extended over the light hair of the young man on his face with firm strokes, a little hard, where shimmering eyes that seemed now the same blue fascinating interview that the luminous sea in the distance between the foliage of the trees.

Mr. Labarède asked:

- You have traveled a lot, sir?

- Yes, everywhere. But I have my favorite countries to which I often return, and in those, such place where I like particularly, I'll get some more willingly sensations of art, beauty, or some intoxication flower skin ... for I breathe all the perfumes of life, pagan I am.

- In pagan ... Is it possible?

- Hey! yes, I'm not anything. I like only the beauty in all its forms. I search it in my continual horizon changes and I give him my worship as the Parthenon to our old cathedrals, I admire devoutly here in light and perfume, and there, to the north, in ice white snow; I contemplate with as much delight in a flower on the human figure. One of my most vivid sensations of this kind, I found in a village near Naples, listening to a woman's voice, not worked, but a deep and warm sound, singing an old song in a small all red garden sage and peonies. These two red, the bright, a bit rough, the other more sober tone, bathed in the fiery Neapolitan sun.

He spoke calmly, staring ahead, towards the sea. Mr. Labarède regarded him with a surprise that tinged disapproval. In turning his gaze, de Pendelon said with a smile slightly mocking:

- I'll probably stumble? You did not think to host a miscreant like that?

- In fact, I thought ... A Breton ...

M. Pendelon gave a slight shrug.

- I was raised by my brother who believed in nothing, if not the power of money. But, if you wish, leave this question we can not agree, since you are a practicing Catholic. I have respect for all beliefs and I would not risk offending your own, even unintentionally.

He began to speak of the East, a trip he had made some months earlier. The right note, the original expression, the colorful and vibrant word came naturally to her lips, and the seduction of this word is still increasing through the warm voice, nuanced, which ended with the work of Mr. Labarède bewitching look.

The excellent man, after a moment, had forgotten the unpleasant sensation produced by the declaration of principles of its host. M. Pendelon held him in love, after so many others. Very clearly, he knew all along, on the face of the simple, good old man, of his brave man dazzled impressions.

For a while, however, he cast frequent glances toward the other end of the terrace, which Mr. Labarède back turned. Here Ms. Labarède worked near his table covered lingerie mending. Leaving the house, Annunciation had appeared near her. The girl leaned her lithe torso, stroking the gray hair headbands. The grandmother smiled. They exchanged a few words, then Mrs. Labarède got up and went into the house.

Annunziata stood still for a moment. The smooth curve of her shoulders, her delicate profile stood out in bright light. She reached out, took a basket on a chair and began descending the small steps formed on each side of cultivated terraces.

Its light figure slipped into the hot clarity crossed by the movable shade of the leaves. M. Pendelon watched her. He let the conversation drop gradually. Mr. Labarède rose apologizing for staying so long.

- But not at all ! I am very pleased to have met a partner as pleasant.

Under the friendliness of this response, a more astute observer would have discerned that Mr. Labarède a little irony.

- ... I hope we often bavarderons well. Besides, I have information to ask you about the past of the Provence that you seem to know so well.

Mr. Labarède cheerfully assured him that everything was available to his host, shaking the long thin hand extended to him.

When he had gone into the house of Mr. Pendelon rose. Addressing the dog lying beside him, he said softly, derisively and amused:

- Seldjouck, man, will get to know this charming flower of Provence.

The dog got up and jumped around his master. A few brief words calmed him and he followed sedately M. Pendelon descending sauntered degrees terraces.

Incidentally, under a shrub, the young man noticed a bound volume of faded calf. He bent down to pick it up, and then, when he had in hand, cast a glance at the title. It was the Iliad. Mr. Pendelon of the mechanically opened it and read the name on the title page: The Annunciation Hennec ...

He repeated, with a great surprise accent:

- The Annunciation The Hennec Hennec ... ... Well, it's weird!

Continuing down, he reached the last terrace - that of the olive plantation. Agitated by the sea breeze, gray leaves are brushed with a light wrinkling. Large streaks of sun spread on the grassy ground and one of them wrapped Annunciation, leaning towards the feet of wallflowers huge, dark red, grown at the edge of the terrace by Mr. Labarède, which did not leave an inch of unproductive land.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up and his cheeks colored a little under the influence of surprise or shyness.

She hardly knew abroad, but his distinction, his pace, enthusiasm Mr. Labarède, urged him to sympathy. For the first time today, she saw him up close and met the eyes whose strange beauty had surprised and worried Mrs. Labarède the day of Mr. Pendelon became tenant of the pavilion. A slight disorder made her a little shiver. He, bowing, asked:

- This book is not it you, miss? I just found it on the floor, on the second terrace.

- Yes, sir. Thank you for being given this sentence. I had to drop him yesterday ...

She took the volume presented by M. de Pendelon. This one says with a sigh:

- I see you read Homer in the text.

- I am a student of my grandfather, who prepared me for my exams.

- Bachelor Degree ...?

- Yes, letters from license.

- Hey! So I can talk with you about this old Homer? The reading you often?

- Very often.

- Me too. I never tired me.

He was silent for several seconds. Annunciation, embarrassed, got low and its matt white eyelids like jasmine flower. The look of this stranger was not bold, and some of which she had felt it to stop on the insolent admiration when she came down for some shopping in Cannes or Antibes.

But he insinuated in it a kind of glare never experienced before.

- I'll ... let me ask you a question, miss. In this book, I saw written, a name that is one of a family of Brahaix, the town very close to Guerlac, old manor: The Hennec ...

The white eyelids rose, revealing a lively look of great surprise.

- You know Brahaix, sir? You are in this country? My father lives there. His name is Conan The Hennec.

- You are the daughter of Conan The Hennec? But I thought you Provencal, entirely Provencal!

- I am my mother and place of my birth, but the paternal side is Breton.

- Breton Absolutely. The The Hennec like Pendelon are pure Celtic race. Legend or truth, we connect our origins in a Celtic prince, lennok king parent Grallon and converted by the apostle Wennaël then treacherously murdered on the orders of the beautiful Ahes, daughter of the king, which he scorned the advances. His wife and son Wennaël escaped the revenge of the princess hiding in a forest, until they reached the news that the city of Ys was gone, and with it Ahes. Through the course of centuries, the descendants of lennok was perpetuated. Today, Mr. Le Hennec and I represent the two remaining branches of this remote trunk.

All the wonder of this discovery, Annunciation forgot his discomfort and M. Pendelon could now see at ease beautiful eyes dark brown raised him - a child's eyes by their candor, woman's eyes by their depth, strength of thought contained.

- What a strange thing ... And you know a lot my father, sir?

- Certainly ! At each of my stays Guerlac we meet and talk archeology, ethnography, questions the passionate and very interested. But I am surprised he never told me one of his daughters lived in Provence.

The bright young eyes clouded while qu'Annonciade said sadly:

- My father does not care about me. He barely knows me. I saw him twice since my childhood, and that's it.

- Actually ... I know it's kind of a carefree, apathetic, and his wife dominates the ... Ah, but in fact, I now remember having heard that it was his second woman and the first married in Provence, had died after a year of marriage.

- Yes, my father came to ethnographic research and he met my mother at mas Ouyolles, in a grandmother's uncle who lived abroad passage recommended by a mutual friend. After my mother died, I was left with my grandparents while my father returned to Britain. He came to see me twice, as I have said, and then he remarried and I never saw him again. It meets once a year to my letters in a few lines. I know just as I have two brothers and a sister, but it does not give me any details about them nor about his existence.

She added wistfully:

- We feel that it's a chore he performed there, answering me. Perhaps Ms. Le Hennec only is it me not favorable.