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His name was Geordie Sooplejoint, a modest, douce, and well-behaved young man caring for little else but the perfecting of his art.
For the douce fillette had caught a mouse, which few sweet little girls are capable of doing; a regular domestic fireside mouse, a thing which the douce fillette had not seen in many weeks.
"For shame, Burley!" "He's drunk," said Mr. Douce, the bankrupt trader, "very drunk; don't mind him. I say, sir, I hope we don't intrude. Sit still, Burley, sit still, and talk, do, that's a good man. You should hear him ta ta talk, sir." Leonard meanwhile had got Helen out of the room into her own, and begged her not to be alarmed, and keep the door locked.
'And so you call me douce and meek? . . . You should remember what I once was, Lancelot . . . I, at least, have not forgotten . . . I have not forgotten how that very animal nature, on the possession of which you seem to pride yourself, was in me only the parent of remorse., . . I know it too well not to hate and fear it.
Douce's little, miserable, gasping, dacelike mouth, with "a glass of wine, Douce?" or "by the by, Douce," whenever he saw that worthy gentleman about to make the AEschylean improvement of a second person in the dialogue.
"Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to ane anither as you an' Bell," "Canna ye, Sam'l?" "She wid mak ye a guid wife, Sanders, I hae studied her weel, and she's a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o' her.
This characteristic, common to most of the earth convulsions in France, has perhaps contributed, together with the climate, to the epitaph of douce bestowed by all Europe on our sunny France.
You will not find in the pages of Vauvenargues a distinct revival of that passion for the very soil of France, "la terre sainte, la douce France," which inspired the noble "Chanson de Roland" and has been so strongly accentuated in the recent struggle for Alsace-Lorraine.
When my grandfather had returned to the bailie's house after delivering his message to the Reformer, he spent an evening of douce but pleasant pastime with him and the modest Elspa Ruet, whose conversation was far above her degree, and seasoned with the sweet savour of holiness.
Lemercier gazed on the announcement of the bombardment, and the Parisian gaiety, which some French historian of the siege calls douce philosophie, lingering on him still, he said, audibly, turning round to any stranger who heard: "Happiest of mortals that we are!
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