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Updated: June 8, 2025
Clarence can recover from his astonishment and remind her of her vehement words on the subject at Bellegarde, Mr. Stephen is making thither with the air of one who conquers. Again the natural contrariness of women. What bare-faced impudence! Has he no shame that he should hold his head so high?
It seems probable that these caverns have some undiscovered outlet, as the Rhone, after its rise from them, is but inconsiderable, compared with what it is before its disappearance. Not far distant is the Pont de Bellegarde, over the little river Valserine, which runs through a deep dell into the Rhone. The scene is well deserving of attention.
Madame de Bellegarde sat by the fire conversing neatly and coldly with whomsoever approached her, and glancing round the room with her slowly-restless eye, the effect of which, when it lighted upon him, was to Newman's sense identical with that of a sudden spurt of damp air.
I am not fond of dancing, and that sort of thing; I am too old and sober. But I want to be amused; I came to Europe for that." "But you can be amused in America, too." "I couldn't; I was always at work. But after all, that was my amusement." At this moment Madame de Bellegarde came back for another cup of tea, accompanied by the Count Valentin.
Addison Colfax had driven in from Bellegarde, nor could it rain fast enough or hard enough to wash the foam from her panting horses. She did not wait for Jackson to come out with an umbrella, but rushed through the wet from the carriage to the door in her haste to urge the Colonel to go to the Arsenal and demand Clarence's release. It was in vain that Mr.
Suddenly appeared the "handsomest young man of Prance," the Duc de Bellegarde, Henri's equerry, who had been away on an adventure of love. Somehow, he'd contrived to meet Gabrielle d'Estrées, almost a child, but of dazzling beauty. She hid him for three days, and then, alas, a treacherous maid threatened to tell Gabrielle's father.
Miss Crane lingered in Mrs. Abner Reed's room later than usual that night. "Virginia," said Mrs. Colfax, the next morning on coming downstairs, "I am going back to Bellegarde today. I really cannot put up with such a person as Comyn had here to tea last night." "Very well, Aunt Lillian. At what time shall I order the carriage?" The lady was surprised.
"I assure you I have something," said Newman, "besides, it is my duty to say it. It's a notification a warning." "Your duty?" said old Madame de Bellegarde, her thin lips curving like scorched paper. "That is your affair, not ours."
She told me that the Queen was neither in body nor mind truly Spanish; that she had neither the temperament nor the vivacity of her nation, but only the coquetry of it, which she retained in perfection; that M. Bellegarde, a gallant old gentleman, after the fashion of the Court of Henri III., pleased her till he was going to the army, when he begged for one favour before his departure, which was only to put her hand to the hilt of his sword, a compliment so insipid that her Majesty was out of conceit with him ever after.
"It sounds so awfully foolish." "But at any rate you had a reason." "Oh, I came for my pleasure!" said Newman. "Though it is foolish, it is true." "And you are enjoying it?" Like any other good American, Newman thought it as well not to truckle to the foreigner. "Oh, so-so," he answered. M. de Bellegarde puffed his cigar again in silence.
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