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C'est ma Jeunesse qui s'en va. C'est ma Jeunesse qui s'en va. Host: Well, Youth, I see you are about to leave me, and since it is in the terms of your service by no means to exceed a certain period in my house, I must make up my mind to bid you farewell. Youth: Indeed, I would stay if I could; but the matter lies as you know in other hands, and I may not stay.
"Mais, ma bonne amie!... for the third time, and at my age... and to such a child." He brought out at last, "Mais, c'est une enfant!" "A child who is twenty years old, thank God. Please don't roll your eyes, I entreat you, you're not on the stage. You're very clever and learned, but you know nothing at all about life. You will always want a nurse to look after you.
Il sçavoit manier la régle et le compas, Parloit de la lumière et ne l'entendoit pas; Il estoit de l'antique un assez bon copiste, Mais sans invention, et mauvais coloriste. Il ne pouvait marcher que sur le pas d'autruy: Le génie a manqué, c'est un malheur pour luy.
"C'est a la corbeille Tenez!" cried she, holding it by a slender handle of orange-peel; "Tenez! c'est a la corbeille!" Mrs. Somers, with a forced smile admired the orange-basket; but said, that, for her part, her hands were not sufficiently dexterous to imitate this fashion: "I," said she, "can only do like the king of Prussia and other people squeeze the orange, and throw the peel away.
She was too small for an inter-island cutter, and smaller than those do not venture beyond the reef. She was downing her single sail, and the sun glinted on the wet canvas. I called to the guardian of the semaphore, and when he pointed his telescope at the object, he shouted out: "Mais, c'est curieux! Et ees a schmall vessel, a sheep's boat!"
C'est une sensation veritable que j'éprouve dans un endroit correspondant
"You know, Count, such knights as you are only found in Madame de Souza's novels." "What knights? What do you mean?" demanded Pierre, blushing. "Oh, come, my dear count! C'est la fable de tout Moscou. Je vous admire, ma parole d'honneur!" * * "It is the talk of all Moscow. My word, I admire you!" "Forfeit, forfeit!" cried the militia officer. "All right, one can't talk how tiresome!"
Dessein, he shut the door of the chaise upon us, and left us. C'est bien comique, 'tis very droll, said the lady, smiling, from the reflection that this was the second time we a had been left together by a parcel of nonsensical contingencies, c'est bien comique, said she.
"Bravo!" he cried, laughing heartily. "You are marrying the son, you mean, not the father. C'est vrai, c'est vrai!" His utter unconsciousness was a great blessing, no doubt, but at that moment it nearly maddened her. Was he blind? Apparently he was, as he drank some mineral water and talked to the Duchess. The arrival of Lady Brinsley's poor dear Mr.
Eighty years after his death, the royal cemetery was violated by the revolutionists, his coffin was opened; his body was dragged out; and it appeared that the prince, whose majestic figure had been so long and loudly extolled, was in truth a little man. "C'est une erreur," says he in his strange memoirs of the Duke of Berri, "de croire que Louis XIV. etait d'une haute stature.
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