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"I should like to leave, too, my dear. Somehow I can't bear the house since your father's death. I'd like to go back to England, though it's a little early." "I'll tell you. If there's no news of Esther in a couple of days, why not pack up your things and we'll move along to some other spot Antibes, perhaps." "But, Roger, you're not fit to travel at all. It would be madness! I couldn't permit it."
We followed it, unintentionally, as far as Le Grand Pin that big pine tree that looks across the bay towards Antibes. There, the ladies descended and sat down on a knoll, gazing out disconsolately towards the sea and the islands. It was evident they were suffering very deep grief. Their faces were pale and their eyes bloodshot. "Poor things!" Amelia said. Then her tone altered suddenly.
As his malady began to take a more definite form, he turned his steps towards the south, only visiting Paris to see his physicians and publishers. In the old port of Antibes beyond the causeway of Cannes, his yacht, Bel Ami, which he cherished as a brother, lay at anchor and awaited him.
He laughed, wept, and went out, and then came back and said he found a good way of getting to Antibes at a small cost, but they would have to go directly, as the driver wanted to get to St. Andiol by nightfall. "I am quite ready." "No, dear Irene," said I, "you shall not go; you shall dine with your friend, and your driver can wait.
Shortly after we had been introduced he had informed me in a Franco-Provencal jargon, mumbling tremulously with his toothless jaws, that when he was a "shaver no higher than that" he had seen the Emperor Napoleon returning from Elba. It was at night, he narrated vaguely, without animation, at a spot between Frejus and Antibes, in the open country.
Leaving Marseilles Toulon Hyères Fréjus Coast scenery The Hotel Windsor An unexpected meeting, and a pleasant walk Isles de Lerins The Mediterranean Defective drainage Mosquitos and Nocturnal Pianos Christmas Day Cannes The Pepper tree The English cemetery Antibes Miscalled Health Resorts Grasse Orange blossoms Leaving Cannes.
This Marcel Masséna, whom I met in 1800, when he was commandant of the fortress at Antibes, was a serious and capable man, highly thought of by his Colonel, M. Chauvet d'Arlon. To help his nephew, he had him taught to speak and write reasonable French, and, in spite of some escapades, had him promoted to the rank of warrant-officer.
But what pen can describe the splendor of this scene? what brush reproduce its ever-changing hues, its delicate mists, its broad shadows, the deep blue of the sea, the rosy tint which Aurora casts over all, or the vivid purples and crimsons which glow upon the mountain-crags and strew the indigo of the Mediterranean with jasper, ruby, Sapphire and gold when the sun falls to rest behind the beautiful Cape of Antibes?
On the right hand, it is terminated by Antibes, and the mountain of Esterelles, which I described in my last. As for the weather, you will conclude, from what I have said of the oranges, flowers, etc. that it must be wonderfully mild and serene: but of the climate, I shall speak hereafter.
Something in her pose, her absorption lips just parted, shadow of lashes on her cheek, primrose-pale sari against the green velvet curtain had fired him, lit a spark of inspiration.... If he made a decent thing of it, Roy should have it for a companion to the Antibes pastel: her two aspects wife of Nevil; mother of Roy. Later on, the boy would understand.
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