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And the ladies: the following names are of those devoted to the prowess of the Prince Murat Madame la Princesse, la Princesse Marguerite Murat, Mademoiselle d'Elchingen, the Duchesse and the Marquise d'Albufera, the Duchesse de Camestra, and Madame Kraft. From this one sees that romance is not all smouldering. This was not a work destined for the public at large.

It does not matter so much with me, I know you, but then people laugh at you behind your back, and that is not nice for me. The marquise was here the other day, and she said she almost wished you would not come on her 'days, so extraordinary were the remarks you made. And by the way, the marquise has written a book. I have not seen it, but I hear that it is really too décolleté.

This jealousy was exhibited as on previous occasions, by quarrels remote from the real grievance; but the marquise was not deceived: she recognised in this change the fatal hand of her brother-in-law.

The Marquise de Beauseant would willingly have sold her property and gone back to Geneva, but she could not bring herself to do it; it would mean that she distrusted M. de Nueil. Moreover, he had taken a great fancy to this very Valleroy estate, where he was making plantations and improvements.

It's the portrait of the last Marquise the one who was guillotined, poor soul, with her husband, in let me see in 1793!" "What an exquisite creature! Look, Josephine, did you ever see anything so beautiful?" "Beautiful!" repeated the grisette, with a sidelong glance at one of the mirrors. "Beautiful, with such a coiffure and such a bodice! Ciel! how tastes differ!" "But her face, Josephine!"

Tressan changed colour, for all that there was surely naught to fear, and he fingered his beard perplexedly, looking to the Marquise for direction. She flashed him a glance, lifted one shoulder disdainfully, and to the men: "Fetch him out," said she, and she pointed to Garnache. But again Garnache stayed them.

You can understand now why Arthur and his wife should have retired for a time to their delightful little country-house at Nogent-sur-Marne. They'll recover their eyesight there. During their stay in the country the hotel de Rochefide is to be renovated, and the marquise intends to display on her return a princely splendor.

After turning the matter over and over in his own mind, he arrived at the conclusion that nothing could have thrown such clear light into his life save the letters of Madame de Campvallon. He never wrote the Marquise, but could not prevent her writing to him; for to her, as to all women, love without letters was incomplete.

Then, in a clear, strong voice, that rang out like a song of victory, she cried: "Vive le Roi!" The very next day Dolores saw two young men led out to die. Their bearing was no less brave than that of the Marquise. They were not royalists. They died accused of Modérantisme, that frightful word with which the revolution sealed the doom of so many of its most devoted children.

Not Santa Claus. Honora's belief in him had merged into a blind faith in a larger and even more benevolent, if material providence: the kind of providence which Mr. Meredith depicts, and which was to say to Beauchamp: "Here's your marquise;" a particular providence which, at the proper time, gave Uncle Tom money, and commanded, with a smile, "Buy this for Honora she wants it."