Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 9, 2025
It only proves that the public is idiotic to make a success of such vileness!" And he disappeared without having even entered my dressing-room. His outburst made me laugh, and as the triumphant Bornier had embraced me repeatedly, I scratched myself all over. Two months later I played Gabrielle, by this same Augier, and I had incessant quarrels with him. I found the verses of this play execrable.
Julie repented, and, drawing her friend towards her, rested her head against the chinchilla cloak. "I'm tired, I suppose," she said, in a low voice. "Don't think me an ungrateful wretch. Well, there's my foster-sister and her child." "Madame Bornier and the little cripple girl?" cried the Duchess. "Excellent! Where are they?"
I turned towards Perrin, who was listening silently. "Are you of the same opinion, sir?" "I talked it over a short time ago with these gentlemen, but the author is master to do as he pleases with his work." Then, addressing myself to Bornier, I said, "Well, my dear author, what have you decided?" Little Bornier looked at big Emile Augier.
"Yes, it would be hard for her to go alone," said the Duchess, reflectively. She looked at her watch. "Only a little after eleven. Ring, please, Jacob." The carriage was ordered. Meanwhile the little lady inquired eagerly after her Julie. Had she been exhausted by the double journey? Was she alone in Paris, or was Madame Bornier with her?
With a Preface by HENRI DE BORNIER, of the French Academy A poet has no right to play fast and loose with his genius. It does not belong to him, it belongs to the Almighty; it belongs to the world and to a coming generation. At thirty De Musset was already an old man, seeking in artificial stimuli the youth that would not spring again.
Warkworth guessed, of course, that she was Madame Bornier, the foster-sister the "Propriety" of this ménage. "Can't I help?" he said to Julie, with a look at Delafield. "It's just done," she said, coldly, handing a nail to Delafield. "Just a trifle more to the right. Ecco! Perfection!" "Oh, you spoil him," said Meredith, "And not one word of praise for me!"
There was in this beseeching and piteous glance an expression of sorrow at having to cut out a scene which he prized, and of fear at vexing an Academician just at the time when he was hoping to become a member of the Academy. "Cut it out, cut it out or you are done for!" brutally replied Augier, and he turned his back. Then poor Bornier, who resembled a Breton gnome, came up to me.
Oh, how I loathe some people! Well, there she is in bed, Madame Bornier away, and everybody. I simply can't go to Scotland. But Freddie is just mad. Do, Jacob, there's a dear, go and dine with him to-night and cheer him up. He vows he won't go north without me. Perhaps I'll come to-morrow. I could no more leave Julie to-night than fly. "She'll be ill for weeks.
Here is Henri de Bornier, the author of La Fille de Roland, a quiet, earnest-looking gentleman, with clear luminous eyes and the smallest hands imaginable. Here comes Francisque Sarcey, the greatest dramatic critic of France and one of the most noted of her Republican journalists, broad-shouldered, black-eyed and stalwart-looking.
He scratched himself desperately, for the unfortunate man suffered from a distressing skin disease. He did not speak. He looked at us searchingly. Poignant anxiety was expressed on his face. Perrin, who had come up to me, guessed the private little drama which was taking place in the heart of the mild Bornier. "Refuse energetically," murmured Perrin to me.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking