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Updated: June 18, 2025
A silk-lined, Paris-made wool dress rustled close beside her, and she put out one of the slender hands without turning her head. "Mother, dear," said she, as a little silver-haired old lady took it and came and leaned against her tall girl's shoulder, "haven't we had enough of the `Foerst-haus zu Trauerbach?" "Not until a certain girl, who danced away her color at Cannes, begins to bloom again."
Kitty was sitting near her, a half-knitted jumper lying across her knees, the inevitable cigarette in her hand, while Barry, who had returned from Cannes some weeks ago entirely unperturbed at finding his new system a complete "wash-out" leaned, big and debonair, against the window. "When are we going to Mallow?" asked Nan fretfully. "I'm so tired of staring at those houses across the way."
He's there, Father Bonot is, they told me in Washington. He's an old, old man. Let's go back home there." "Why, yes," said the girl, "if you want, we'll go." "You were a little baby at Cannes Brulée yes," animatedly, "that's what we'll do. We'll go home to Father Bonot, Malise." At the touch of Mr. Jonas the minister started. His face was grey. Then he got up and followed the other.
A good deal of gaiety and praise, a little mild flirtation at Kirkbank Castle, and lo! the image of her first lover began to grow dim and blurred, like a faded photograph. A season at Cannes, and she was cured. A week in London, and that first love was a thing of the past, a dream from which the dreamer awaketh, forgetting the things that he has dreamt.
This winter the Newthorpes spent abroad. Mr. Newthorpe was in very doubtful health when he went to Ullswater, just before Egremont's return to England, and by the end of the autumn his condition was such as to cause a renewal of Annabel's former fears. On a quick decision, they departed for Cannes, and remained there till early in the following April. 'There's a sort of absurdity, Mr.
Cluny could not be dishonest, though he would try hard not to say painful things. "Well, she was a bit fierce at first she's a woman, you know; but afterwards she went like a baby; cried, and wouldn't stay at Cannes any longer: so we're back in town. We're going down to the country, though, to-morrow or next day." "Do you think I had better call, Cluny?" Gaston ventured suggestively.
On that lonely plantation at the Cannes Brulées, where Aurore Nancanou's childhood had been passed without brothers or sisters, there had been given her, according to the well-known custom of plantation life, a little quadroon slave-maid as her constant and only playmate. This maid began early to show herself in many ways remarkable.
When sixty years ago Lord Brougham, en route for Italy, was thrown from his travelling berline and his leg was broken, near the Italian hamlet of Cannes, the Riviera was as unknown to the polite world as the centre of China. The grand tour which every young aristocrat made with his tutor, on coming of age, only included crossing from France into Italy by the Alps.
She would certainly not continue to work for him, even if he wanted her, and of course he would not want her. No, if nothing prevented her, she would probably spend a few free weeks in Cannes, then take passage back to America. If nothing prevented: would Roger try to stop her going? Or had his feeling for her not risen above the plane of mild flirtation?
The descent from this hill to level ground is about seven miles of road as excellent as the former part of the stage; the whole having been very much improved by Buonaparte; and although the distance from Frejus to Cannes cannot be less than twenty-eight miles, it appears to occupy a shorter space of time than many much shorter stages.
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