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I left my card, and retraced my steps. A WEEK is gone; LE JOUR DES NOCES arrived; the marriage was solemnized at St. Jacques; Mdlle. Zoraide became Madame Pelet, NEE Reuter; and, in about an hour after this transformation, "the happy pair," as newspapers phrase it, were on their way to Paris; where, according to previous arrangement, the honeymoon was to be spent.
"It is not clear to me that she is there. I wish I could persuade you against taking this jour our ourney." "That is out of the question, Gaston; so spare yourself the trouble of the attempt." "But the journey will be use use useless," persisted M. de Bois. "How can you know that?" inquired Maurice, quickly. "I think so; it is my impression, my conviction."
The boys' eyes turned, however, more to the river at their feet, and the intervening ground, than upon the objects however interesting of distant Paris. "Do not show yourself," the officer said. "If we were caught sight of, from Issy or Point du Jour or from that gunboat, below we should have a rain of shells about us, in no time.
He followed her to the door and held it open. "Bon jour, Madame." She descended the stairs. Perhaps it was his sudden illogical change of tone; perhaps it was the memory of his phrase, "assured of a large audience," coupled with a picture of the sinister Mr. Cowl unsuccessfully trying to give away tickets but whatever was the origin of the sob, she did give a sob.
Public opinion, and the pressure from without, are the only things which have carried any measure in England for the last twenty years. Neither Whigs nor Tories deny it: the governed govern their governors that's the 'ordre du jour' just now and we'll have our turn at it!
The door was opened by the sick girl's mother, who, with her "Bon jour, monsieur! Entrez, s'il vous plait," took Edward rather by surprise, and would by no means hear of receiving the gift outside the door. This was more than he had bargained for; he had come on a message from Ellen, not for a charitable visit on her own account: but there was no alternative, and go in he must.
I must go over to avenge them." I shivered; I quaked in my shoes. Would the major speak to me in French? I did not then know as much as Bon jour. But luck was with me. To my great relief Major Farquarhson replied, as he walked into the house, "Report to me this afternoon; I will pass you." August 28, 1914, saw old Bill Bill Ravenscroft and me enlisted for the trouble.
"Trot over to the cantina, and beg, borrow, buy, or steal, a bottle of the best Paso." "Sall I try steal 'im, Monsieur Saint Vrain?" inquired Gode, with a knowing grin. "No, you old Canadian thief! Pay for it. There's the money. Best Paso, do you hear? cool and sparkling. Now, voya! Bon jour, my bold rider of buffalo bulls I still abed, I see." "My head aches as if it would split."
I don't think an able man necessarily an angel; but I think if his heart match his head, and both proceed in the Great March under the divine Oriflamine, he goes as near to the angel as humanity will permit: if not, if he has but a penn'orth of heart to a pound of brains, I say, "/Bon jour, mon ange/! I see not the starry upward wings, but the grovelling cloven-hoof."
The old memories are crowded with pleasures. You can name dozens if you have been brought up in good literary society. These love affairs may be owned freely, as being perfectly honorable, even if hopeless. And, of course, there have been gallantries mere affaires du jour such as every man occasionally engages in. Sometimes they seemed serious, but only for a moment.
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