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The speaker put up two small hands and pulled and patted at the black lace strings of Lady Tranmore's hat, which were tied under the delicately wrinkled white of her very distinguished chin. "This hat suits you so you are such a grande dame in it. Ah! Je t'adore!"
For a while she stood watching the bowed figure at the table, and then she tip-toed across to him and laid her hand on his head. With a quick start he looked up, and into his face there came the light of all the ages, the light of the man for the woman he loves. "Marie," he whispered hoarsely. "Marie que je t'adore." He caught her to him and kissed her on the lips.
It represented the Cardinal-Generalissimo wearing a casque surrounded by laurels. Above it was inscribed: "Grand Duc: c'est justement que la France t'honore; Ainsi que le dieu Mars dans Paris on t'adore." These fine phrases did not persuade the people that they were happy.
Jesu aid me . . . you are mine from the beginning; it is not right that you love that other. Be kind to me, Bryde, let me whisper je t'adore, always I love you thus," she cried, and kissed him wildly in a kind of madness. "I think," said she, "when I am standing with Hugh to be married, I think I will run to you," and then "Take me home now," all brokenly she spoke, "my brave night is finished."
That contained a word, 'yes, and was signed by her initials; this second one consisted simply of a sprig of heliotrope." "Do you understand the language of flowers? The heliotrope means, 'Je t'adore, and Sydenham understood it instantly, as you saw." "Yes; but why "
It represented the Cardinal-Generalissimo wearing a casque surrounded by laurels. Above it was inscribed: "Grand Duc: c'est justement que la France t'honore; Ainsi que le dieu Mars dans Paris on t'adore." These fine phrases did not persuade the people that they were happy.
But her hearing was morbidly alert, and while the golden figures on the book danced a ghostly dance before her eyes, she heard again what she desired to hear. It was like the whispering of the wind against a forbidden gate. She caught words: "Je t'aime follement j'en mourrai je t'adore mon amour mon amour." Mary closed her eyes. It seemed to her again as though hot waves streamed over her.
For he whom fate had given her could use her love no longer. From the next room sounded the whispering, monotonous, broken, assailing her ears in glowing waves: "J'en mourrai je t'adore mon amour." That was his song of death. She felt that it was her own, too. Madame Nelson, the beautiful American, had come to us from Paris, equipped with a phenomenal voice and solid Italian technique.
There was nothing in the world which could make up for what was it he had called it? the biggest thing in Life. Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders; she felt them stealing down her arms. She felt herself lifted up towards him, and with a little gasp of utter surrender she turned and looked at him with shining eyes. "Derek, my darling," she whispered. "Que je t'adore. . . ."
It represented the Cardinal-Generalissimo wearing a casque surrounded by laurels. Above it was inscribed: "Grand Duc: c'est justement que la France t'honore; Ainsi que le dieu Mars dans Paris on t'adore." These fine phrases did not persuade the people that they were happy.
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