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That evening, on his return to his own chamber, he danced a gavotte, using his thumb and forefinger as castanets, and he sang the following song: "Jeanne est nee a Fougere "Amour, tu vis en elle; Vrai nid d'une bergere; Car c'est dans sa prunelle J'adore son jupon, Que tu mets ton carquois. Fripon. Narquois! "Moi, je la chante, et j'aime, Plus que Diane meme, Jeanne et ses durs tetons Bretons."
He looked at me in the same way without answering, and I went on with deliberate urbanity, "I suppose you are at the studio of one of those great men." Still he looked at me, and then he said softly, "Gérôme." "Do you like it?" I asked. "Do you understand French?" he said. "Some kinds," I answered. He kept his little eyes on me; then he said, "J'adore la peinture!" "Oh, I understand that kind!"
Didn't somebody once describe him as a sort of sensual Christ? He, too, was after the commercant's wife. And didn't he select her as the subject of his licentious verses reassure yourself, reader, licentious merely from the point of view of prosody. "Ta nuque est de santal sur les vifs frissons d'or. Mais c'est une autre, que j'adore."
"Mais j'adore les bonbons, moi," said the little Sylphide, with a queer, piteous look. "I can buy a hatful at Fortnum and Mason's for a guinea. And it shall have its bonbons, its pootty little sugar-plums, that it shall," Pen said, with a bitter smile. "Nay, my dear, nay my dearest little Blanche, don't cry.
Persons desirous of visiting this door at the present day will recognize it by this inscription engraved in white letters on the black wall: "J'ADORE CORALIE, 1823. SIGNE UGENE." "Signe" stands in the text. "Ugh!" said the scholar; "'tis here, no doubt." The key was in the lock, the door was very close to him; he gave it a gentle push and thrust his head through the opening.
Comme les perles et les é tol les Or-nent dé ja le front des cleux La nuit e-tend partout votle Elle vient de ju fermer mes yeux, Re viendras tu dans un doux songe, O mon bel ange, tor que j'adore Me re pe ter divers mensonges Me re pe ter -ye taime encore
* It is not necessary to enter into descriptions of these various inventions. Accordingly Messrs. Macaire and Bertrand are made the heroes of many speculations of the kind. In almost the first print of our collection, Robert discourses to Bertrand of his projects. "Bertrand," says the disinterested admirer of talent and enterprise, "j'adore l'industrie.
"Mais j'adore les bonbons, moi," said the little Sylphide, with a queer piteous look. "I can buy a hatful at Fortnum and Mason's for a guinea. And it shall have its bonbons, its pooty little sugar-plums, that it shall," Pen said with a bitter smile. "Nay, my dear, nay, my dearest little Blanche, don't cry.
He looked about at the rest of us, as if to appeal from Miss Ruck's insensibility, and went to deposit his rejected tribute on a bench. "Won't you give it to me?" asked Miss Church, in faultless French. "J'adore le sirop, moi." M. Pigeonneau came back with alacrity, and presented the glass with a very low bow. "I adore good manners," murmured the old man.
"J'adore l'allemand," he addressed Anna again with the same smile. "Cessez," she said with playful severity. "We expected to find you in the fields, Vassily Semyonitch," she said to the doctor, a sickly-looking man; "have you been there?" "I went there, but I had taken flight," the doctor answered with gloomy jocoseness. "Then you've taken a good constitutional?" "Splendid!"
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