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Lebeau won his heart by always asking after Madame. "You look tired, citizen," said the porter; "let me bring you a glass of wine." "Thank you, mon ami, no. Perhaps later, if I have time, after we break up, to pay my respects to Madame." The porter smiled, bowed, and retired muttering, "Nom d'un petit bonhomme; il n'y a rien de tel que les belles manieres."
"'You can't send me to hell because I have not pretended. I have been myself, and I didn't make myself. I can't go to hell with the pretenders." "But to heaven with the kings?" asked Varvilliers. "With the kings who have not also been pretenders," said I. "Nom de Dieu," said she, "I believe that I shall escape, after all. So you and I will be separated, Wetter." "No, no," he protested.
"I should be the last to accept the honour of your hospitality under a nom de guerre." The Duke bowed. "M. le Comte," he said, "to be quite as candid as yourself, I pierced your incognito even in the dark. My dear sir, a Scots traveller named for the time being the Baron Hay once had the privilege of sharing a glass coach with your uncle between Paris and Dunkerque; 'tis a story that will keep.
Raoul stared on hearing this name and looked at the count to be quite sure that it was he whom the lieutenant thus addressed. "That name sounds strange to you," said Athos, smiling; "it was my nom de guerre when Monsieur D'Artagnan, two other gallant friends and myself performed some feats of arms at the siege of La Rochelle, under the deceased cardinal and Monsieur de Bassompierre.
For a few moments he spoke to them, and a ripple of words, of ejaculations and exclamations, went across the assemblage like a wave. "Nom de Dieu! Not alone?" "To the Pay d'en Haut, those two?" "A woman? Mother of God!" Wondering eyes turned to the figure in the glow of the fire, to the brown hands hard clasped, the face with its flame-lit eyes.
Ah! que ce rude et dur guerrier Nous a coute de sang et de pleurs et d'outrage Pour quelques rameaux de laurier! "Eh bien! dans tous ces jours d'abaissement, de peine, Pour tous ces outrages sans nom, Je n'ai jamais charge qu'un etre de ma haine,... Sois maudit, O Napoleon!"
To the Comtesse d'Agoult, better known by her nom de plume of Daniel Stern, whose acquaintance she had recently made in Paris, she writes in May, 1836: I am still at La Châtre, staying with my friends, who spoil me like a child of five years old. I inhabit a suburb, built in terraces against the rock. At my feet lies a wonderfully pretty valley.
As it was, the young woman herself found it and, one presumes, took charge of it because her fiance was incapacitated, and possibly with the notion that she might thereby prevent further mischief of the same nature." "Her fiance?" Stanistreet echoed blankly. "Lieutenant Thackeray " "Her brother, sir!" the Briton laughed. "Thackeray was his nom de service." It was Lanyard's turn to stare.
"It was my sister's son you killed, Grassette," said the Governor, in a low, strained voice. "Nom de Dieu!" said Grassette, hoarsely. "I did not know, Grassette," the Governor went on "I did not know it was you." "Why did you come, m'sieu'?" "Call him 'your Honor," said the Sheriff, sharply. Grassette's face hardened, and his look, turned upon the Sheriff, was savage and forbidding.
Ecoute-toi! Nom de dieu! Is it true what you say?" The visage of Jules, surmounted by a nightcap and heavy with sleep, appeared behind her. "Ha, e'est Daveed!" he said. "What news have you?" I repeated, whereupon they both began to lament. "And why is it?" persisted Jules. "He has such faith in the loyalty of the Kaskaskians," I answered, parrot-like. "Diable!" cried Jules, "we shall perish.
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