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Acquet went to La Bijude and threw herself on the bed, fully dressed. The day had been very heavy and towards evening lightning flashed brightly. About two in the morning Lanoë knocked on the window and Mme. Acquet appeared, ready to start.
Filleul saying to me, on the eve of my departure from France, when I was to escape from the horrors I foresaw: "You are wrong to go. I intend to stay, because I believe in the happiness the Revolution is to bring us." And that Revolution took her to the scaffold! Before she quitted La Muette the Terror had begun. Mme. Chalgrin, a daughter of Joseph Vernet, and Mme.
"Dese men haf tiger faces. . . . I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of dings." "Where are you going, sir?" "Vere it shall blease Gott," returned Pons' universal legatee with supreme indifference. "Send me word," said Villemot. Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. "Go after him," he whispered. Mme.
To live! It is intoxicating! To love, and to be loved! It is happiness! It is heaven! In collaboration with Jules Sandeau, she wrote a novel called Rose et Blanche. The two lovers were uncertain what name to place upon the title-page, but finally they hit upon the pseudonym of Jules Sand. The book succeeded; but thereafter each of them wrote separately, Jules Sandeau using his own name, and Mme.
I will find out what is the matter, and I will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a hauling over the coals " "Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot," said the doctor as they stood in the gateway, "one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So "
The private secretary was standing among the rest, when Mme. de Castiglione entered, the famous beauty of the Second Empire.
Nearly all outside of Germany shared Frederick the Great's prejudice against German singers. Yet when she appeared in Paris, in spite of hostile anticipation, in spite of her reserve, timidity, and coldness on the histrionic side of her art, she soon made good her place by the side of such remarkable artists as Mme. Pasta and Maria Malibran.
When M. le Baron Gaston de Nueil, the young Parisian in question, had spent two or three evenings in his cousin's house, or with the friends who made up Mme. de Sainte-Severe's circle, he very soon had made the acquaintance of the persons whom this exclusive society considered to be "the whole town."
"Not at all. It's a present from our good Plantat." All Orcival knew that M. Plantat, a monomaniac on flowers, never gave them away to anyone except Mme. Laurence. Hector's evasion was an unhappy one, and Bertha was not deceived. "You promised me, Hector," said she, "not to see Laurence any more, and to give up this marriage." He tried to reply.
"Not when you know her. Besides, that has nothing to do with Francie. You couldn't find words enough a moment ago to express that Francie's exquisite, and now you'll be so good as to stick to that. Come feel it all; since you HAVE such a free mind." "Do you call her by her little name like that?" Mme. de Brecourt asked, giving him another cup of tea. "Only to you. She's perfectly simple.
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