Le maître de forges (B2)
Le maître de forges (B2)
Le Maître de forges tells the story of Philippe Derblay, a wealthy and honest ironmaster who falls in love with Claire de Beaulieu, a young noblewoman from a ruined family. Claire agrees to marry him without truly loving him because her family needs money. Over time, she discovers Philippe’s kindness and strong values, and she eventually falls in love with him.
Tout le long de la route, il caressa de charmants projets d’avenir. Et quand le train s’arrêta sous les hangars vitrés de la gare du Nord, il sauta lestement sur le quai de débarquement reprenant avec joie possession de ce Paris, loin duquel son esprit et son cœur s’étaient si gravement égarés.
C’était le soir. Il prit un plaisir d’enfant à regarder, par la portière de sa voiture, l’enfilade immense de la rue Lafayette, semée de ses innombrables becs de gaz. Le mouvement de la grande ville le saisit. L’allure des passants lui parut avoir un vivacité, un entrain particulier. La circulation des rues était bruyante. Au carrefour du faubourg Montmartre, il tomba dans un embarras de voiture ; les cochers s’apostrophaient vivement, et, jusque sous la tête des chevaux, les piétons glissaient, pressés de passer. Son fiacre repartit et longea le grand mur en meulière du jardin de l’hôtel Rothschild, puis il tourna par la rue du Helder, et, tout à coup, le duc se trouve en plein boulevard.
[...] Les devantures des magasins flamboyaient dans l’obscurité, les trottoirs étaient noirs de monde. C’était le tableau magique de Paris la nuit, qui s’offrait là dans toute sa terrible et puissante splendeur.
Le fiacre tourna dans la rue de la Paix, et, quelques instants après, Gaston était à la porte du cercle. Il descendit de sa voiture, un peu étourdi, les oreilles pleines encore du bruit énervant du chemin de fer, les yeux brouillés par les lumières. Fatigué, il monta dans la chambre qu’on lui avait préparée, et il dormit d’un trait jusqu’au lendemain matin.
All along the way, he entertained charming plans for the future. And when the train stopped beneath the glass-roofed sheds of the Gare du Nord, he leapt nimbly onto the platform, joyfully taking possession once more of this Paris from which his mind and heart had strayed so gravely.
It was evening. He took a child's delight in watching, through the window of his carriage, the immense stretch of the Rue Lafayette, dotted with its countless gas lamps. The bustle of the great city seized him. The bearing of the passers-by seemed to him to have a particular liveliness, a particular spirit. The traffic in the streets was noisy. At the crossroads of the Faubourg Montmartre, he found himself caught in a jam of carriages; the coachmen shouted sharply at one another, and, right beneath the horses' heads, pedestrians slipped through, eager to cross. His cab set off again and skirted the great rubblestone wall of the garden of the Hôtel Rothschild, then turned down the Rue du Helder, and, all at once, the duke found himself right on the boulevard.
[...] The shop windows blazed in the darkness, the sidewalks were black with people. It was the magical picture of Paris by night, displayed there in all its terrible and powerful splendor.
The cab turned into the Rue de la Paix, and, a few moments later, Gaston was at the door of the club. He got out of his carriage, a little dazed, his ears still ringing with the jarring noise of the railway, his eyes blurred by the lights. Tired, he went up to the room that had been prepared for him, and slept straight through until the next morning.
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