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Artois drew out a cigar, lit it slowly, then got up, and began to move out among the tables. The priest looked after him, spoke rapidly to his companions, and burst into a throaty laugh which was loudly echoed. "Maria Fortunata is in luck to-night!" said some one. Then the band began again, the waiter came with more ices, and the tall, long-bearded forestiere was forgotten.
What must Artois think? "Aren't you going to write, signorino?" asked Gaspare, when Maurice had read his letter and approved it. "I?" he said. He saw an expression of surprise on Gaspare's face. "Yes, of course. I'll write now. Help me up. I feel so lazy!" Gaspare seized his hands and pulled, laughing. Maurice stood up and stretched. "You are more lazy than I, signore," said Gaspare.
As early as the reign of Philip the Handsome Robert claimed the count-ship of Artois as his heritage; but having had his pretensions rejected by a decision of the peers of the kingdom, he had hoped for more success under Philip of Valois, whose sister he had married.
He had always been at every moment at the command of the Duchess, save when he had gone to Flanders and Artois to suppress the tumults, according to her express orders. He had no connexion with the meeting of the nobles at Saint Trond. He had gone to Duffel as special envoy from the Duchess, to treat with certain plenipotentiaries appointed at the Saint Trond meeting.
And I want to have a last talk with you, Emile." Artois pushed up the little door in the roof with his stick. "The Embankment Thames," he said to the cabman, with a strong foreign accent. "Right, sir," replied the man, in the purest cockney. As soon as the trap was shut down above her head Hermione exclaimed: "Emile, I'm so happy, so so happy! I think you must understand why now.
He did not want Artois to come here to Sicily. He hated his coming. He almost dreaded it as the coming of a spy. The presence of Artois would surely take away all the savor of this wild, free life, would import into it an element of the library, of the shut room, of that intellectual existence which Maurice was learning to think of as almost hateful.
Fabiano's words had sent her mind sharply to Sicily. Maddalena! She was sure she had known, or heard of, some girl in Sicily called Maddalena, some girl or some woman. She thought of the servants in the Casa del Prete, Lucrezia. Had she any sister, any relation called Maddalena? Or had Gaspare ? Suddenly Hermione seemed to be on the little terrace above the ravine with Maurice and Artois.
The knife or bullet of an assassin was the one thing needful to put an end to this incarnated rebellion. Thus matters grew worse and worse in Artois. The Prior, busier than ever in his schemes, was one day arrested along with other royal emissaries, kept fifteen days "in a stinking cellar, where the scullion washed the dishes," and then sent to Antwerp to be examined by the states-general.
The loneliness of this mountain summit was a fit setting for her loneliness, and these two solitudes, of nature and of this woman's soul, took hold of Artois and made him feel as if he were infinitely small, as if he could not matter to either. He loved nature, and he loved this woman. And of what use were he and his love to them?
After having passed through his studies, and obtained the honor of being chosen by his fellow-students to address Louis XVI., upon the entrance of that prince into Paris, he returned to Arras, where, having become an advocate of the council of Artois, he composed strictures against the magistrates of that province.
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