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Faraday's was another instance of moderate means and noble independence. Lagrange was accustomed to attribute his fame and happiness to the poverty of his father, the astronomer royal of Turin. "Had I been rich," he said, "probably I should not have become a mathematician."
Help for this habitual contraction is given in the preceding chapter. Further on Dr. Lagrange tells us that "Besides the apprenticeship of movements which are unknown, there is the improvement of already known movements."
"Even you, M. de Laplace, when you entered the Academy, had done nothing brilliant; you only gave promise. Your grand discoveries did not come till afterwards." Lagrange was the only man in Europe who could with authority address such an observation to him.
When his masters informed him that they would not be home for lunch, he took advantage of the opportunity and asked for the day. Thus it came about that Conrad Lagrange in the spirit of a boy bent upon some secret adventure stole out into the rose garden, that morning, to leave the promised letter and key at the little gate in the corner of the Ragged Robin hedge. Myra Willard's Challenge
But I must meander back to town, and let the boys know you're in possession, safe and sound. It's right mean that Fairfax and Mattingly had to go down to Lagrange on some low business yesterday, but they'll be back to-morrow. So long." Left alone, the girls began to realize their strange position. They had conceived no settled plan.
Why was I not told? All these years I have lived a selfish fool, and you you I would have given up everything I would have worked in a ditch, rather than accept this." The deep, quiet voice of Conrad Lagrange broke the stillness that followed the storm of the artist's passionate words. "And that is the answer, Aaron.
She sat by the window, indeed, but her eyes were upon the open pages of a book a popular novel that by some strange legal lapse of the governmental conscience was and is still permitted in print. The author of the story that so engrossed Mrs. Taine was in her opinion almost as great in literature as Conrad Lagrange, himself.
He glanced suspiciously about the hall, and, on reaching the door, turned to Mrs. LaGrange, who had accompanied him, saying, in his smoothest tones, "I shall be out again in two or three days. Should you wish to see me before that time, you can telephone to my office or send me word." She bowed silently and he took his departure, but as she returned to her room, she exclaimed, fiercely, "Craven!
When I think of what I might have been, but for you, I wonder that I have cared to live, and I would not except for the poor sport of torturing you. "You scoff at Mr. King's portrait of me because he has not painted me as I am! What would you have said if he had painted me as I am? What would you say if Conrad Lagrange should write the truth about us and our kind, for his millions of readers?
Madame Martin replied that she knew no serious reason why the earth and humanity should not be annihilated at once. Old Lagrange exclaimed with profound sincerity that he hoped the cataclysm would come as late as possible. She looked at him. His bald head could boast only a few hairs dyed black.
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