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She was an impartial referee; her one desire being to play a fair game. She was aware of Berenice's playing at cross purposes and watched her closely. At last she called a foul. "I don't see why," cried Berenice. Her little beady eyes snapped as she approached Helen and looked defiantly up at her. "Two-hand dribble the second time you have done the same thing.
Berenice's 'souffle au fromage' is something delicious! Let Monsieur le Superieur come in." M. Violette took his departure, displeased at his useless visit and irritated against Uncle Isidore, who had been hardly civil. "That man is a perfect egotist," thought he, sadly; "and that girl has him in her clutches. My poor Amedee will have nothing from him."
He even invited them to follow his example and taste of his stewed kidneys, one of Berenice's triumphs, who served the dinner with her hands loaded with rings. The Violettes had dined, and the father made known his desire. "Yes," said Uncle Isidore, "Amedee might enter the house. Only you know, Violette, it will be another education to be learned over again.
You are always stirring up a fuss and holding back the game. You are the only one on the squad who cannot play an honest game. Leave the cage, and remain out. Maude may take your place permanently." With her own captain against her, there was nothing to be done except to obey. Already Maud was within the cage and at her place. The game continued. Mame pitched a goal from Berenice's foul.
The errand was useless, he knew; for all the while at the back of his soul's confusion some practical corners of his brain had been working at the problem of time was there time to follow and prevent? There was not. He knew the Berenice's natural speed to be eighteen knots.
The classical reader will at once recollect, among many others of a similar kind, the stories of Castor and Pollux, and of Berenice's tresses, the latter of which has been so elegantly imitated by Pope, in telling us of the fate of the vanished lock of Belinda:
He even invited them to follow his example and taste of his stewed kidneys, one of Berenice's triumphs, who served the dinner with her hands loaded with rings. The Violettes had dined, and the father made known his desire. "Yes," said Uncle Isidore, "Amedee might enter the house. Only you know, Violette, it will be another education to be learned over again.
It is because, in the eyes of those who knew Cecil Tresilyan, some interest must attach itself to the basest thing that bears her name; it is because there are men alive who think that the broidery of her skirt, or the trimming of her mantle, deserve describing better than the shield of Pelides; who hold that one of her dark chestnut tresses is worthier of a place among the stars than imperial Berenicè's hair.
The head of the Lion of our maps is as the head of a dog, so far as stars are concerned; but if stars from the Crab on one side and from Virgo on the other be included in the figure, and especially Berenice's hair to form the tuft of the lion's tail, a very fine lion with waving mane can be discerned, with a slight effort of the imagination. So with Bootes the herdsman.
Berenice's 'souffle au fromage' is something delicious! Let Monsieur le Superieur come in." M. Violette took his departure, displeased at his useless visit and irritated against Uncle Isidore, who had been hardly civil. "That man is a perfect egotist," thought he, sadly; "and that girl has him in her clutches. My poor Amedee will have nothing from him."
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