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"Who's that who's that," said she, raising her head upon her pillow. The window curtains of the room were hardly closed, and she recognised immediately Henri's tall figure, and singular costume. "Oh! Henri, what has happened? what brings you here?" "Rise, dearest, we must fly," said he: "we have not a moment we fear the blues are coming."
But Henri II., who saw things only through the eyes of Diane and the Connetable, was a truly feudal king and the friend of all the great families of his kingdom. After the futile attempt of the Connetable in her favor, which must have been made in the year 1556, Catherine began to cajole the Guises for the purpose of detaching them from Diane and opposing them to the Connetable.
Aunt Margaret and Cecilia, knitting frantically at socks and mufflers and Balaclava helmets, were desperately proud of him, and compared his photograph, in uniform, with all the pictures of Etienne and Henri and Armand, and other French boys who had played with him under the trees at Fontainebleau, and had now marched away to join him at the greater game.
It was Henri whose memory was first revived. "Captain, you are my prisoner!" he said, gayly, seizing the stranger by the collar. "What! The Commandant de Prerolles!" cried the elderly man, in a reproachful tone, from which fifteen years had not removed the bitterness. "I know who he is!" said Lenaieff. "Monsieur is your former jailer of the frontier fortress!"
This shows he has good principles." In history other than naval I was for my object as fortunate as I had been in Lapeyrouse-Bonfils. An accident first placed in my hands Henri Martin's History of France. I happened to see the volumes, then unknown to me, on the shelves of a friend.
I arose and left the room before him; I wished to leave them together a moment for the last time and, as soon as I had closed the door behind me, in a perfect rage of jealousy, I pressed my ear to the keyhole. "When shall I see you again?" he asked. "Never," replied Brigitte; "adieu, Henri." She held out her hand.
"How many?" asked Henri. "Five hundred." "Cahors;" and he gave him the piece and took a second. The man bowed and withdrew. The next advanced and said, "Auch." "How many?" "Three hundred and fifty." "Cahors;" and he gave him his piece. "Narbonne," said the third. "How many?" "Eight hundred." "Cahors;" and he gave him his piece. "Montauban," said the fourth. "How many?" "Six hundred." "Cahors."
Henri had hardly got off the lawn, when he met a couple of servants coming from the yard, and between them a man booted, spurred, and armed, covered with dust and spattered with fuam, whom he at once recognized as Foret, the friend and townsman of Cathelineau. "What news, Foret, what news?" said Henri, rushing up to him, and seizing him by the hand. "Pray God you bring with you good tidings."
A solemn march was then struck up by the band, during the performance of which the coffin containing the body of the deceased was slowly carried up the middle of the nave...As soon as the coffin was placed in the mausoleum, Mozart's Requiem was begun...The march that accompanied the body to the mausoleum was Chopin's own composition from his first pianoforte sonata, instrumented for the orchestra by M. Henri Reber.
Old Toussaint Derossier, the village justice, was brought forward, fumbling with his beloved wallet of papers, and made to sit upon an up-turned bucket with a slab across his knee and write in his long hand of the rue Henri the story that the men told. They were ready to tell.
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