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The young face, in its handsome and arrogant vigour, the gypsy-black hair and eyes, the powerful shoulders in the blue serge coat, the sunburnt neck exposed by the loose, turn-down collar above the greenish tie there they were, as he had painted them, lying once more under his hand. The flickering light of the candle showed him his signature and the date. He laid it down and drew a long breath.
Flanders tapestry hung on the walls, and a large bed with a top valance of green serge, like a peasant's bed, was amply furnished with mattresses, and covered with good sheets of fine linen. Each room had a stove called a chauffe-doux; the floor, carefully polished by Dame Tirechair's apprentices, shone like the woodwork of a shrine.
An old cabbage-tree hat and a blue serge shirt made up the rest of his rig. Boots he had on, but they didn't seem to be fellows, and one rusty spur. His hair was like a hay-coloured mop, half-hanging over his eyes, which looked sharp enough to see through a gum tree and out at the other side. He jumped down and stood before us, while his horse's flanks heaved up and down like a pair of bellows.
"Well, of course it aren't as light as a straw hat as you can tilt off every time you come into the shade, and let it hang between your shoulders, same as you do your shield." "And I suppose that is?" said Marcus, sharply. "What, as a straw hat, boy? Well, I don't say that," said Serge, drily, "because it do weigh a tidy bit.
To be sure, the fashions are distressing enough, but Metelill shows that they can be treated gracefully and becomingly, and even Avice makes her serge and hat look fresh and ladylike. Spite of contrast, Avice and Jane seem to be much devoted to each other. Pica and Charley are another pair, and Isa and Metelill though Metelill is the universal favourite, and there is always competition for her.
When Albine had opened the shutters, behind the large curtains, the genial yellow glow once more warmed a patch of the white calico. But that which impelled Serge to sit up in bed was the sight of the shadowy bough, the branch that for him heralded the return of life.
"What, having to fight in this snow, Serge?" "Nay, that would have warmed us, lad. I meant, come on to snow." "Snow at this time of year?" cried Marcus. "It snows up in the mountains at all times of the year, boy," growled Serge. "Down below in the plains it only rains, but up here it snows; and here it comes, and someone else too.
"Show it to him," said Madame Desvarennes; "he is the companion of Micheline's young days, almost a son to me." And turning toward Pierre, she pointed him out to Panine. Serge took three rapid strides toward Pierre, but quick as he had been Micheline was before him. Each of the lovers seized a hand of Pierre, and pressed it with tender effusion.
He is a good-looking fellow, very. The high white collar that shows up in the dusk is fastened round a long, well-set neck; the figure in the blue serge suit is straight and pleasing, and the shoulders erect and slim. The girl's eyes, looking out of the shadow, take in these points, and the pleasure they give her seems inextricably confused with dull pain.
Serge, during this short and bloody struggle, showed prodigies of valor. On the night of Sadowa, out of seven bearing the name of Panine, who had served against Prussia, five were dead, one was wounded; Serge alone was untouched, though red with the blood of his uncle Thaddeus, who was killed by the bursting of a shell. All these Panines, living or dead, had gained honors.
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