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At this moment a cry from without arose, so loud as almost to drown the voices of the speakers on the turret stair, a cry welcome to the ears of Osmond, repeated by a multitude of voices, "Haro! Haro! our little Duke!" It was well known as a Norman shout.
Greville's voice was heard calling, "Martin! Osmond!" As they went out to meet him in the passage, Miss Fosbrook clearly overheard, "Here is the spring of the garden-engine spoilt. Do you know anything about it?" "No." "You have not been meddling with it?" "No." And they ran downstairs. The colour flushed into Christabel's cheeks with horror.
She told Gilbert Osmond that she had done so, and he replied that, spending many of his summers as well as his winters in Italy, he himself would loiter a little longer in the cool shadow of Saint Peter's. He would not return to Florence for ten days more, and in that time she would have started for Bellaggio. It might be months in this case before he should see her again.
You like nothing I do or don't do. You pretend to think I lie." Osmond turned slightly pale; he gave a cold smile. "That's why you must go then? Not to see your cousin, but to take a revenge on me." "I know nothing about revenge." "I do," said Osmond. "Don't give me an occasion." "You're only too eager to take one. You wish immensely that I would commit some folly."
Now I have the money in my pocket, and he can't say I'm poor!" the young man exclaimed defiantly. "He'll say now that you're not wise," said Isabel, as if Gilbert Osmond had never said this before. Rosier gave her a sharp look. "Do you mean that without my bibelots I'm nothing? Do you mean they were the best thing about me? That's what they told me in Paris; oh they were very frank about it.
"Ah, with Madame Merle you may go anywhere, de confiance," said Ralph. "She knows none but the best people." Isabel said no more about Mr. Osmond, but she presently remarked to her cousin that she was not satisfied with his tone about Madame Merle. "It seems to me you insinuate things about her.
"No, verily, but what more would you say?" "I think, when I come to my dukedom, I will not be so politic," said Richard. "I will be an open friend or an open foe." "The boy grows too sharp for us," said Sir Eric, smiling, "but it was spoken like his father." "He grows more like his blessed father each day," said Fru Astrida. "But the Danes, father, the Danes!" said Osmond.
"Ay, prisoners," repeated Osmond Mounchensey, "my prisoners. I have a Star-Chamber warrant for your arrest. Behold it. Under this warrant his Highness has committed you, and you will be taken hence to the Fleet, where you, Giles Mompesson, shall occupy the cell you destined for my nephew! Now, your sword." "Take it," rejoined Mompesson, plucking the rapier from its sheath, "take it in your heart.
Now you tell me it's not to have been the last. Ah, you're not grateful!" "What am I to be grateful for?" Gilbert Osmond laid down his little implements, blew a speck of dust from his drawing, slowly got up, and for the first time looked at his wife. "For my not having interfered while he was here." "Oh yes, I am. I remember perfectly how distinctly you let me know you didn't like it.
But, as she justly declared, one couldn't have everything one wanted; she had learned that lesson for herself. There would be no use in his writing to Gilbert Osmond, who had charged her to tell him as much. He wished the matter dropped for a few weeks and would himself write when he should have anything to communicate that it might please Mr. Rosier to hear.
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