United States or Netherlands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He addressed her with respect, in her presence maintained an attitude which was a little constrained and timid, gave her money without counting, satisfied her most costly fantasies, her wildest caprices, all the strange desires of a Levantine's brain disordered through boredom and idleness. One word alone excused everything. She was a Demoiselle Afchin.
Smith, with whom the little Bolshevik was allied for the time, and who did in clay very much what Garstin did on canvas, but more roughly and with less subtlety, looked at the Levantine's hand with indifference. A large heavy man, with square shoulders and short bowed legs, he scarcely knew why he had anything to do with Anna, or remembered how they had come together.
"Miss Verbena," replied Mr. Greyne, "I have seen the Ouled on the heights." A spasm crossed the Levantine's face. She put her handkerchief to it for a moment. "What is an Ouled?" she inquired, withdrawing it. "I dare not tell you," he replied solemnly. "But indeed I wish to know, so that I may sympathise with monsieur." Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was full; he felt the need of sympathy.
Yet, for a brief instant, it had occurred to him, and Mrs. Greyne had seriously held it. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a sudden impulse to tell her the truth overcame him. "Yes," he said. "Tell me, monsieur." In broken words the ship was still very busy Mr. Greyne related the incident of the loss and finding of the diary. As he spoke a slight change stole over the Levantine's face.
He wondered, and how strange, how almost terrible he was not sure. "Is it not so?" murmured Mademoiselle Verbena. "Naturally I miss my beloved wife," said Mr. Greyne with a certain awkwardness. "How is your poor, dear mother?" Tears came at once into the Levantine's eyes. "Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a chance just a chance that she may not die.
But Jansoulet saw nothing of all that. In his eyes she was then, she was always, down to the time of her arrival in Paris, a superior being, a person of the highest refinement, a Demoiselle Afchin; he spoke to her with respect, maintained a slightly humble and timid attitude toward her, gave her money without counting it, indulged her most extravagant caprices, her wildest whims, all the strange conceits of a Levantine's brain distracted by ennui and idleness.
"Let us hope for the best," he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration. The Levantine strove to smile. "But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! Let me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more " Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement. "I am quite alone," he said. A tragic expression came into the Levantine's face. "But, then " she began.
It was a serious crisis, so serious that, discarding the mediation of valets and maids, through whom their conjugal interviews were usually conducted, he ran upstairs four stairs at a time, and entered the Levantine's luxurious apartments like a gust of the mistral.
They were three stout, heavy, apathetic boys, of eleven, nine, and seven years, with the Levantine's sallow complexion and premature bloated appearance, and their father's velvety, kindly eyes.
The Levantine's palace, whose gardens extended to the very windows of the hotel, had sheltered for several months past an artistic celebrity, the sculptor Bréhat, who was dying of consumption and owed the prolongation of his life to that princely hospitality.
Word Of The Day