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It is said that all women love a lover, and Mrs. She probably felt for the moment as if, forty years before, she had held him also in her arms. "That wouldn't help you, sir. It would only make her seem farther away." "I want to go there, at all events," said Newman. "Avenue de Messine, you say? And what is it they call themselves?" "Carmelites," said Mrs. Bread. "I shall remember that." Mrs.
Of the general impurity of the town and of the bouquet de Messine the less said the better. As we made fast to the Marina our tobacco was temporarily sealed after the usual mean Italian fashion. Next morning an absurd old person, in a broad red baldrick, came on board and counted noses, to ascertain that we had not brought the dreaded small-pox from the Ionian Islands.
For the benefit of English travellers in the annexed portion of the last-named province I cite a passage from M. Maurice Barres' beautiful story, Colette Baudoche. His hero is German and his heroine French, a charming Messine or native of Metz.
It was several feet deep. This washed him. "Bravo!" he said. "I am very clean, but I am very cold." At four o'clock in the morning, as Henry had promised him, they reached Messine, a Belgian village. The two Custom House lines had been cleared. Cournet had nothing more to fear, either from the Custom House nor from the coup d'état, neither from men nor from dogs.
If some one tactfully suggests the Avenue de Messine, he is instantly rebuffed by a steady stare that sends him back, withered, into the second row of the group. A shivering woman, taking all her courage into her hands, suggests the Palais d'Orsay, but is ignored while a man from behind calls forth "Five francs if you'll take me to the Avenue du Bois."
There was a long silence, broken only by the ticking of the great gilded clock on the chimney-piece. "Where is this place where is the convent?" Newman asked at last, looking up. "There are two houses," said Mrs. Bread. "I found out; I thought you would like to know though it's poor comfort, I think. One is in the Avenue de Messine; they have learned that Madame de Cintre is there.
You may bury me some day, but you shall never marry me. It's too rough. I hope, at any rate," he added, "that there is nothing incoherent in this that I want to go next Sunday to the Carmelite chapel in the Avenue de Messine. You know one of the Catholic ministers an abbe, is that it? I have seen him here, you know; that motherly old gentleman with the big waist-band.
Sunday was as yet two days off; but meanwhile, to beguile his impatience, Newman took his way to the Avenue de Messine and got what comfort he could in staring at the blank outer wall of Madame de Cintre's present residence. The street in question, as some travelers will remember, adjoins the Parc Monceau, which is one of the prettiest corners of Paris.
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