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Bussy had already begun the motion of a lunge, which it was too late to arrest, even if he had discovered that the other's arm was injured and had disdained to profit by such an advantage. De Quelus would have been pierced through had not I leaped forward with drawn sword and, by a quick thrust, happened to strike Bussy's blade and make it diverge from its course.
"Is it for me and mine that you say that?" asked Chicot, speaking like the king. Three friends of Bussy's now drew near to him. These were Charles d'Antragues, Francois, Vicomte de Ribeirac, and Livarot. Seeing all this, St. Luc guessed that Bussy was sent by Monsieur to provoke a quarrel. He trembled more than ever, for he feared the combatants were about to take his house for a battle-field.
It is always the outside man who gets the worst of it, merely for trying to be useful. There come the soldiers of the watch, after the fight is over." I walked over to the other group and knelt by the body on the ground. It was that of a gentleman whom I had sometimes seen in Bussy's company. He was indeed dead. The blood was already thickening about the hole that a sword had made in his doublet.
"Isn't some one coming? Look out and see! I hear bells!" Burke tried to soothe her in his timid, clumsy fashion. "There, there, now sit down. You ain't well, Blanche. I'll ask Mrs. Bussy to come " She suddenly seemed to remember something. "Don't talk to her. Go to Craig's. Don't go to Bussy's please don't! I hate her. I won't be in her debt."
"I know it. Still we have Chaminade and Nevin and De Bussy. Some of De Bussy's tone poems are marvels. I love 'La Lettre' and 'La Muette." "I don't think I have ever heard either of them," returned Mrs. Harlowe. "I know very little of the modern music of the French school." "I'll sing 'La Lettre' for you." Nora faced the piano to render the exquisite inspiration of the noted French composer.
One of the three assailants had planted himself in front of the horse, to catch its bridle, but saw himself now threatened by Bussy's sword, which moved with the swiftness of lightning.
Brother, "Chicot" is a book you lend only to your dearest friend, and then remind him next day that he hasn't sent it back. Now, as to Bussy's great fight. He had gone to the house of Madame Diana de Monsereau. I am not au fait upon French social customs, but let us presume his being there was entirely proper, because that excellent lady was glad to see him.
"That depends on the service, monsieur," replied Bussy, disdainfully. Chicot feigned not to remark this air of disdain. "Monsieur," said he, sitting down and crossing his long legs, "I remark that you do not ask me to sit down." The color mounted to Bussy's face. "Monsieur," continued Chicot, "have you heard of the League?" "I have heard much of it," said Bussy.
For gay and amusing letters, for 'enjouement and badinage, there are none that equal Comte Bussy's and Madame Sevigne's. They are so natural, that they seem to be the extempore conversations of two people of wit, rather, than letters which are commonly studied, though they ought not to be so. I would advise you to let that book be one in your itinerant library; it will both amuse and inform you.
The story of the fight, which is a long and glorious one, is so admirably told in Madame Bussy's life of Delacroix, that I have obtained permission to give the essence of it in her own words. In the Salon of 1822 was exhibited Delacroix's picture of Dante and Virgil, which is now in the Louvre, and evoked the first of those clamours of abuse which were barely stilled before the artist's death.
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