United States or Saint Lucia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Source des tourterelles," repeated Domini. "Is it beautiful, Batouch? It sounds as if it ought to be beautiful." She scarcely knew why, but she had a longing that Ain-la-Hammam might be tender, calm, a place to soothe the spirit, a place in which Androvsky might be influenced to listen to what she had to tell him without revolt, without despair.
The morning Gardens were a glow of pink and purple and dripping diamonds, and on some of the trees was the delicate green of a second blossoming, like hope in the heart of age. They could scarcely refrain from betraying their exultation to the Hôtel des Tourterelles, from which they had concealed their sufferings.
The camp started an hour before they did. Only Batouch remained behind to show them the way to Ain-la-Hammam, where they would pass the following night. When Batouch brought the horses he said: "Does Madame know the meaning of Ain-la-Hammam?" "No," said Domini. "What is it?" "Source des tourterelles," replied Batouch. "I was there once with an English traveller."
And so, shrinking and silent, and protected as far as possible by their big bonnets, the squat Madame Dépine and the skinny Madame Valière toiled up and down the dark, fusty stairs of the Hôtel des Tourterelles, often brushing against each other, yet sundered by icy infinities.
There were no women, there were only beauties. "O, miracle des belles, Je vous enseignerais un nid de tourterelles." "These two lines have undergone a thousand variations under the pens of a thousand poets. Women were only commended for their eyes very beautiful things when they are beautiful, but they should not be made the object of exclusive admiration.
"But since a conscientious artist cannot trust another's block! Represent to yourself also that the shape of the head does not remain as fixed as the dome of the Invalides, and that " "Eh bien, we will think," interrupted Madame Valière, with dignity. They walked slowly towards the Hôtel des Tourterelles. "If one could share a wig!" Madame Dépine exclaimed suddenly.
The sentiments expressed in the first stanza rescued from oblivion will be sufficient to indicate the character of the others: "Je ne suis plus oiseau des champs, Mais de ces oiseaux des Tournelles Qui parlent d'amour en tout temps, Et qui plaignent les tourterelles De ne se baiser qu'au printemps."
Her refusal to wink at the Princess's goings-on, her austere, if provincial, regard for the convenances, had cost her the place, and from these purpureal heights she had fallen lower and lower, till she struck the attic of the Hôtel des Tourterelles. But even a haloed past does not give one a licence to annoy one's neighbours.
Word Of The Day