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For these favors he thanked her in the following poem: "Ainsi donc vous réunissez Tous les arts, tous les goûts, tous les talents de plaire; Pompadour vous embellissez La Cour, le Parnasse et Cythère, Charme de tous les cœurs, trésor d'un seul mortel, Qu'un sort si beau soit éternel!"

He's not a man of books, that uncle of yours, and I'd be ashamed if he caught me reading at this hour of the day. But listen to me now." He took up the volume of "Voltaire" and read L'âme des grands travaux, l'objet des nobles voeux, Que tout mortel embrasse, ou désire, ou rapelle, Qui vit dans tous les coeurs, et dont le nom sacré Dans les cours des tyrans est tout bas adoré, La Liberté!

In Octave Mirbeau's notorious novel, a novel which it would be complimentary to describe as naturalistic, the heroine is warned by her director against the works of Anatole France, "Ne lisez jamais du Voltaire. . . C'est un peche mortel . . . ni de Renan . . . ni de l'Anatole France. Voila qui est dangereux."

Ce mortel qu'on remarque Tient-il Plus que nous de la Parque Le fil? was in the habit of fixing his eyes on a certain proscenium box wherein were wont to sit certain notabilities in politics and finance. As several of these died during the first run of the work, superstitious people thought the box was bewitched, and no one cared to occupy it.

On the afternoon of the following day, three tired Englishmen arrived at the restaurant, and their hardy Italian pilots were only too glad to find a voyageur ready to start at once for the Mortel hut, whence a nine hours' climb would take them back to the Val Malenco, provided they crossed the dangerous névé on the upper part of the glacier soon after daybreak.

The pall, or Drap Mortel, as the cloth is called, had a strong smell of incense, which was always disagreeable to me, and then proved almost suffocating. I recollected also a story I had heard of a novice, who, in taking the veil, lay down in her coffin like me, and was covered in the same manner, but on the removal of the covering was found dead.

"You really ought not to talk about it," said Spencer soothingly. "Why not? He brought me there to kill me, he said. The cunning old fox told me that I would find Helen in the Mortel hut, and offered to take me to her by a short cut over Corvatsch. And I believed him! I was mad, I suppose. We did the Marmoré ascent by the light of the stars. Do you realize what that means?

Moritz, Helen, we must seek out the finest and biggest photograph of the Mortel that money can buy," said Spencer. Helen was standing a little above him on a broad ledge. Her hand was resting on his shoulder. "Oh, look!" she cried suddenly, pointing with her alpenstock to the massive mountain wall that rose above the cabane. A few stones had fallen above a widespread snow slope.

That is what I call the poetry of gastronomy!" "Yes," said I, with a sigh, "they certainly had, in some respects, the advantage over us. Who can pore over the suppers of Apicius without the fondest regret? Brougham in honour of Mr. "Bravo, my lord," cried I, warmly. "'Qu'un Cuisinier est un mortel divin! Why should we not be proud of our knowledge in cookery?

He would stay at Roseg, he said, to make certain that everything possible was done for the unfortunate climber. Indeed, when his beloved was lost to sight down the winding road that leads to the main valley of the Engadine, he accompanied the men who went to the Mortel. Halfway they met Pietro and Bartelommeo carrying Bower on an improvised stretcher, ice axes and a blanket.