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And he resumed his ditty, as he plunged rapidly through the streets, and this is what died away in the gloom: "Mais il reste encore des bastilles, Et je vais mettre le hola Dans l'orde public que voila. Ou vont les belles filles, Lon la. "Quelqu'un veut-il jouer aux quilles? Tout l'ancien monde s'ecroula Quand la grosse boule roula. Ou vont les belles filles, Lon la.
It is curious to see with what adroitness these vagrants elude the vigilance of the police, I had scarcely set my foot in this building before a Jew-looking fellow, coming close to me, whispered in my ear: "Monsieur veut-il la vie polissonne de Madame ?" Madame who do you think?
When he saw that I was in earnest he was as nice as possible, told me exactly what I wanted to know, that I need not say "Altesse royale" every time I spoke, merely occasionally, as they all like it, that I must speak in the third person, "Madame veut-elle," "Monseigneur veut-il me permettre," etc., also that I must always be at the door when a princess arrived and conduct her myself to her seat.
Sir Claude turned to a porter. "When does the train go?" The man looked up at the station-clock. "In two minutes. Monsieur est placé?" "Pas encore." "Et vos billets? vous n'avez que le temps." Then after a look at Maisie, "Monsieur veut-il que je les prenne?" the man said. Sir Claude turned back to her. "Veux-tu lieu qu'il en prenne?"
"En quel songe Se plonge Mon coeur, et que veut-il?" For an hour past I have been the prey of a vague anxiety; I recognize my old enemy.... It is a sense of void and anguish; a sense of something lacking: what? Love, peace God perhaps. The feeling is one of pure want unmixed with hope, and there is anguish in it because I can clearly distinguish neither the evil nor its remedy.
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