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Updated: June 2, 2025
You are not my style. I do not understand plump women." "But, Madame Rodrigues " "If one of my premières cares to take you in hand, I have no objection; but that is all I can do for you." The only thing that calms the great artist is the arrival of one of her favorite actresses. "Ah, bonjour, Madame Judic: you will have your toilets on Friday "
They all looked up and waited for the soldiers to do something. Claude approached the woman, and touching the rim of his helmet, began: "Bonjour, Madame. Qu'est que c'est?" She tried to speak, but went off into a spasm of coughing, only able to gasp, "'Toinette, 'Toinette!" 'Toinette stepped quickly forward. She was about eleven, and seemed to be the captain of the party.
"What's he been saying?" I asked, when he had done. "O, just that they're glad to see you, and they understand by me you wish to make some kind of complaint, and you're to fire away, and they'll do the square thing." "It took a precious long time to say that," said I. "O, the rest was sawder and bonjour and that," said Case. "You know what Kanakas are."
Varvara appeared to be totally overcome by that kiss. "How do you do? bonjour," said Maria Dmitrievna. "I never imagined however, I'm really delighted to see you. You will understand, my dear, it is not my business to be judge between a man and his wife." "My husband is entirely in the right," said Varvara Pavlovna, interrupting her, "I alone am to blame."
And those shades of the other kind such as Baptiste with the shaven diplomatic face, the maître d’hôtel in charge of the petit salon, taking my hat and stick from me with a deferential remark: “Monsieur is not very often seen nowadays.” And those other well-groomed heads raised and nodding at my passage—“Bonjour.” “Bonjour”—following me with interested eyes; these young X.s and Z.s, low-toned, markedly discreet, lounging up to my table on their way out with murmurs: “Are you well?”—“Will one see you anywhere this evening?”—not from curiosity, God forbid, but just from friendliness; and passing on almost without waiting for an answer.
They are old, old nobody knows how old they are. "Entrez, Madame," and the old woman rises with difficulty, leaning on her cane, and draws forward a chair. "Bonjour, Madame," in far-away tones from the aged husband, too feeble to move alone. I linger for some time with these two dear souls for they are scarcely more than souls.
In such an exquisite little work of art as his epistle in three-syllabled verse 'À une Damoyselle Malade', beginning Ma mignonne, Je vous donne Le bonjour, we already have, in all its completeness, that tone of mingled distinction, gaiety and grace which is one of the unique products of the mature poetical genius of France.
When he appeared in the door of the chapel the class rose politely to greet him. "Bonjour, my children," said the Abbe, and then, turning his back upon them, bowed before the crucifix upon the chapel altar. Mother Meraut and the Verger slipped quietly away to their work in other portions of the church, and the examination began.
The corporal came up, and with him a little group of French soldiers, their cheeks impoverished, their glassy eyes sunk in deep black hollows by their eternal vigil. "Officier Anglais!" "Courrier du Roi!" we exclaimed, and were sped on our way with a weary smile and "Bonjour! messieurs."
"The wife the ideal wife, mind you is then the weapon, the refuge. To escape from the entanglement of his momentary inspiration, the artist becomes a man: my wife and bonjour. He returns home, takes off the duster of his illusion, cleans the palette of old memories, washes away his vows, protestations, and all that rot, you know, lies down on the sofa, and gives his head to his wife to be rubbed.
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