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I will be more careful as I proceed." Cerise was melancholy at the idea of my departure. I kissed the tears away, and the time flew rapidly. I persuaded her to allow me an interview after the family had retired, as I had much to say to her. "Well, well, we'll suppose all that," observed the pacha, impatiently: "now go on; you remember you were to set off in the morning."
The bell jerked and jangled unceasingly for a time and then came a crash against the door, as if a stalwart shoulder was endeavoring to break it down. Madame Cerise laid down her book, placed her pince-nez in the case, and slowly proceeded down the hall. The door shook with another powerful impact, a voice cried out demanding admittance. "Who is it, then?" she called shrilly.
"I have come here to-day to save Louise from your wiles and carry her back to her friends. I dare you, or your confederates," with a scornful look at the detective, "to interfere with me in any way." Then she turned to Cerise and continued: "Where is Miss Merrick now?" "In your own room, ma'm'seile." "Come with me, then." With a defiant glance at Mershone she turned haughtily and left the room.
I will not dwell upon a scene which can have no charms to those, who, like your highness, buy love ready made; I shall therefore narrate the history of Cerise, which at my request was imparted, previous to her receiving a similar confidence on my part. "Allow me to observe, Felix, or what is your name, you impostor?" said Cerise, half reproachfully and half in jest. "My name is Francois."
I could have talked for an hour after I had met Cerise, if I had not been interrupted: as it was, I cut the matter short." "But, Selim," replied Mustapha, "the pacha is not fond of these sort of adventures; he likes something much more marvellous. Could you not embellish a little?" "How do you mean?" "Holy prophet! what do I mean! Why, tell a few lies, not adhere quite so much to matter of fact."
She offered no resistance, and in a moment she had sunk down by my side, as my arms entwined her beauteous form. "Yes," murmured I, "Cerise, I am repaid." Smiling through her blushes, she disengaged herself, and rose to depart. Returning once more at my request, I imprinted a kiss upon her brow: she waved her hand, and hastened out of the room.
Gaston Belward was different he had befriended her father. She had not singular scruples regarding men, for she despised most of them. She was not a Mademoiselle Cerise, nor a Madame Juliette, though they were higher on the plane of art than she; or so the world put it. She had not known a man who had not, one time or another, shown himself common or insulting.
And give me the number, too, so I can jot it down. I may need it." Diana quietly tore up the note. "The telephone is better," she said. "Being in the dark, sir, I prefer not to commit myself in writing." "You're quite right, Di," he exclaimed, admiringly. "But for heaven's sake don't forget to telephone Madame Cerise." "I won't Charlie.
"Her eyes are like stewed prunes," wrote Nancy to her mother that night, "rich and black and luscious. Her hair is as black as father's ebony box and quite as shiny; her skin smooth and creamy. She has a little rosebud mouth and a small straight nose and she wore the most beautiful kimono, all blue with a cerise sash or obi, as it is called.
She was sitting up in bed, eating her rolls and coffee a bewildering negligee of cerise and cream heightening the effect of her dead-white colouring and raven-black hair. Marston drew in his breath sharply, then sighed. "And you are ravishingly beautiful, my lady," he replied. "You like this robe?" she asked. "I like you; what you may wear is incidental.
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