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Updated: June 18, 2025
You needn't risk a louis on the tables unless you choose, but, like it or lump it, if you're bound for Nice or Cannes or Mentone, you must open your mouth and shut your eyes and see what P.L.M. will send you.
"But most of them are.... By the way, I saw Lady Clifford here last night, marvellous as usual. She was with a rather nice-looking Englishman I've seen about Cannes a good deal no one I know." "Yes, he is here this evening, or was. I saw him having dinner." "So did I, with a comic-looking foreign woman, simply lousy with jewels. She's always about here.
Words like "marmiton de Domange," "pignouf," "hurluberlu" and "roustisseur" were fluttering from him like bats out of a barn. Lost on me, of course, because, though I sweated a bit at the Gallic language during that Cannes visit, I'm still more or less in the Esker-vous-avez stage. I regretted this, for they sounded good. I assisted Gussie down the stairs.
She often wondered hew the Misses Partridge, with their slight resources, physical and material, accomplished it, envying them somewhat their success. She wondered less, and envied them less, after she had seen them at Cannes. Miss Rosamond's deep bass voice, the perfect expression of her red face and man-like way of dressing, were the first influence in winning her.
America can boast of many of his most distinguished specimens, while the Louvre and the Luxembourg are without a single one. The Musée de Lille at Marseilles has several examples; the private collections of M. Delpiano at Cannes and a few collections in Paris make up a meagre list.
How little his soldiery were disposed to consider him as owing anything to a civil revolution, appeared almost from the commencement of his march from Cannes. It was observed that these haughty bands moved on in contemptuous silence whenever the populace cheered his approach, and shouted Vive l'Empereur only when there were no pequin voices to mingle in the clamour.
Auber, who drives out occasionally, is delighted to see that "Our Massenet," as he generally calls him, is getting color in his pale cheeks and his bright and eager eyes are brighter than ever, and he is actually getting fat. PARIS, January, 1866. We have just returned from Nice and Cannes, also from a very disappointing yachting cruise in the Mediterranean, which proved to be a complete fiasco.
As one drifts away from the shore the circle of the Maritime Alps rises like the framework of some perfect picture, the broken outline of the mountains to the left contrasting with the cloud-capt heights above Turbia, snow-peaks peeping over the further slopes between them, delicate lights and shadows falling among the broken country of the foreground, Cannes itself stretching its bright line of white along the shore.
What recollections did this place recall to Hortense! Here it was that Napoleon had landed on his return from Elba to France; from Cannes he had commenced his march to Paris with a handful of soldiers, and had arrived there with an army.
He was, of course, an entire stranger to Rudolph and me, and we continued our journey with the victimized millionaire to Cannes, where we were compelled to remain for a week lest our abrupt return should excite anybody's suspicion. Meanwhile, of course, Duperré was already back in London with the spoils.
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