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The most delicious French and Spanish wines were there in the greatest profusion; the conviviality of the guests was unbounded, but although they drank their champagne out of tumblers, no one showed the smallest symptom of inebriety. The first toast given, was Bolivar. The second Sucre. The third The Battle of Ayacucho. The fourth Union between Columbia and Peru. The fifth Hualero.
Between the infantry of each division appeared the cavalry, the riders leading their horses and advancing with difficulty. It was an impressive scene, and we stood watching with breathless interest. Then our fellows renewed their cheering as General Sucre, riding along the line, addressed a few rousing words to each particular corps.
Then turning to General Sucre, he added, "This Miller has often kept us on the move. I am called active; but he was a regular wizard here, there, everywhere, without giving a clue to his intentions until he dealt us some sly blow." I looked at this celebrated Spanish general with a great deal of interest. He was a small, spare man, with keen eyes and rough, weather-beaten face.
What is this annoyance put upon the French officers?" I state my case politely to this personage, who can not make apologies and promises enough. The little agents prostrate themselves on all fours, sink into the earth; and we leave them, cold and dignified, without returning their bows. M. Sucre and Madame Prune may now make their minds easy; they will not be disturbed again. August 23d.
An official, in all the glory of a gorgeous uniform, demanded my business, and remarked haughtily that the president was engaged. "Tell him," said I, "that a lieutenant of the Hussars of Junin is here with dispatches from General Sucre." After waiting a few minutes, I was conducted through the spacious hall to a room guarded by a file of soldiers.
The day before yesterday, M. Sucre, quite upset, Madame Prune, almost swooning, and Mademoiselle Oyouki, bathed in tears, stormed my rooms.
Aren't you going to eat anything more? 'Not much more. I look forward to my coffee and my cigar. Oh, how I look forward to it! 'You know very well, Landi, they let you smoke cigarettes between the courses, if you like. 'It would be better than nothing. We'll see presently. 'Might I inquire if you live on cigars and coffee? 'No, he answered satirically; 'I live on eau sucre. And porreege.
Day before yesterday, M. Sucre quite upset, Madame Prune almost swooning, and Mdlle. Oyouki bathed in tears, stormed my rooms.
I write, seated on a mat on the floor and leaning upon a little Japanese desk, ornamented with swallows in relief; my ink is Chinese, my inkstand, just like that of my landlord, is in jade, with dear little frogs and toads carved on the rim. In short, I am writing my memoirs, exactly as M. Sucre does downstairs! Occasionally I fancy I resemble him a very disagreeable fancy.
She decided mentally that Louise Caldwell would not fill his measure. "It is something that only some girls have in common with some flowers violets, for instance." "Oh, I don't care for sweet girls very much," she said, thinking of another schoolmate whom the girls used to call eau sucré. "You do," he said positively. "I am not talking of that kind.
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