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"Oui, monsieur; votre sac de nuit. Il est en bas, en bas, sur la diligence. On le montera bientôt." The lady whose spirits rose at night was flitting about, brisk as a bee, getting morsels of bread and dipping them into wine to revive her sister; who, worn out with fatigue and exhaustion, sat in a collapsed and speechless state on a sofa.
"Your Magdalen ought to hear him; she would become converted," said the Countess. "Don't fail to come to-night. You will hear him then. He is a remarkable man." "It is not interesting to me, ma tante." "I tell you it is interesting. You must come to-night. Now, what else do you want me to do? Videz votre sac." "There is the man in the fortress." "In the fortress?
What verses? These: Vous rappelez-vous notre douce vie, Lorsque nous etions si jeunes tous deux, Et que nous n'avions au coeur d'autre envie Que d'etre bien mis et d'etre amoureux, Lorsqu'en ajoutant votre age a mon age, Nous ne comptions pas a deux quarante ans, Et que, dans notre humble et petit menage, Tout, meme l'hiver, nous etait printemps? Beaux jours!
"'Votre affaire ne sera pas trop chere, said he. "'Why. How do you mean? said I.
'Quale un vaso liturgico d'argento. And you, madame, you take away all my sense of criticism. 'Vous me troublez trop pour que je definisse votre genre de beaute." Mrs. Milden was soon engaged in a deep tete-a-tete with Mr.
In order completely to undeceive her, I replied in French, with a slight bow: "Ne craignez rien, madame, je ne suis pas plus dangereux que votre cavalier"... She grew embarrassed but at what? At her own mistake, or because my answer struck her as insolent? I should like the latter hypothesis to be correct. Grushnitski cast a discontented glance at me.
"No, no no matter," said I, hastily running by her in the direction of my room. "Madame," cried she, in a high key, "restez ici s'il vous plaît, votre chambre n'est pas faite." I continued to move on without heeding her.
From Pictorial Review "Your name! Votre nom?" Crossman added, for in the North Country not many of the habitants are bilingual. She looked at him and smiled slowly, her teeth white against cardinal-flower lips. "Ma name? Aurore," she answered in a voice as mystically slow as her smile, while the mystery of her eyes changed and deepened. Crossman watched her, fascinated.
Then he told me another amusing thing: At a ball at the Tuileries he said to a young American whose father he had met: "J'ai connu votre pere en Amerique. Est-ce qu'il vit encore?" And the young man, embarrassed and confused, answered, "Non, sire; pas encore." "It is so good," the Emperor said, "to have a laugh, especially to-day. All the afternoon I shall be plunged in affairs of state."
One addresses him as "Monsieur et plus votre Excellence." I am writing the most pedantic letter in the world in answer to yours, so full of charm. It must seem to you absurd that I write you in French, when you, French by origin, or rather by language, prefer to write me in German. Pray tell me, did you learn German, which you write with such purity, as a child?
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