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"What a pretty vein of satire you have, mon cher!" said the Vicomte, good-humouredly; "there is a sting of truth in your witticism. Indeed, I must send you some articles of mine in which I have said much the same thing, les beaux, esprits se rencontrent.
Plutus wore the, aspect of his enemy Cupid; and how realize your idea of Harpagon in that baron, with his easy French "/Mon cher/," and his white, warm hands that pressed yours so genially, and his dress so exquisite, even at the earliest morn? No man ever yet saw that baron in a dressing-gown and slippers!
M. F. PERRON, "Essai d'une Nouvelle Theorie sur les Idées Fondamentales," 1843. "Ici, a prendre les mots dans le sens ordinaire, il semble qu'il soit demontré qui la Creation est impossible, principe justement cher au Pantheisme; tandis qu'au fond, tout ce qui est demontré, c'est que l'Etre en soi est necessairement incréé, verité incontestable, dont le Pantheisme n'a rien a tirer."
Oxford had only bought and only sold; which was his true function. But Mr. Oxford's sin, in Priam's eyes, was the sin of having been right. It would have needed less insight than Mr. Oxford had at his disposal to see that Priam Farll was taking the news very badly. "For both our sakes, cher maître," said Mr.
"'When the purse will not open, slit it!" he hazarded, desperately choosing, on the off-chance of its correctness, the password of the Apache. "It is not the right one! It is by no means the right one!" she made reply, backing away from him suddenly, her absinthe-brightened eyes deriding him, her absinthe-sharpened laughter mocking him. "Your thoughts are in the Bois, cher ami.
"Oh," cried Herzberg, with enthusiasm, "would that the entire nation might hear these words, and engrave them upon their hearts!" "Why that, mon cher?" asked Frederick, shrugging his shoulders. "I do not ask to be deified; my subjects are perfectly welcome to discuss my acts, so long as they pay me punctually, and order and quiet are respected and preserved."
Joy, happiness, and love, reigned at the court of the King of Saxony, Napoleon had honored the royal house of Saxony with a visit; he had come to Dresden to spend a few days in the family circle of Frederick Augustus, whom he flatteringly called his "cher papa."
It was Turgenev who spoke of the half hundred countesses in Europe who claimed to have held the dying Chopin in their arms. In reality he died in Gutmann's, raising that pupil's hand to his mouth and murmuring "cher ami" as he expired. Solange Sand was there, but not her mother, who called and was not admitted so they say. Gutmann denies having refused her admittance.
"The blessed boy," muttered the colonel to himself. "I give him my glass, and without further ado he makes his cher frère drink out of it, too." But by the face of Little-Boy, who now reached the glass up to the window again, one could see that he had only been doing something which seemed to him quite a matter of course. "Do you like the bouquet?" asked the old colonel.
"I comprehend perfectly; and I can also conceive that you, in profiting so largely, though so justly, by the fall of your kinsman, may have been exposed to much unpopularity, even to painful suspicion." "/Entre nous, mon cher/, I care not a stiver for popularity; and as to suspicion, who is he that can escape from the calumny of the envious?
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