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Updated: May 25, 2025
Our countryman, in the end of his characters, before the Canterbury Tales, thus excuses the ribaldry, which is very gross in many of his novels: But first, I pray you of your courtesy, That ye ne arrete it nought my villany, Though that I plainly speak in this mattere To tellen you her words, and eke her chere: Ne though I speak her words properly, For this ye knowen as well as I, Who shall tellen a tale after a man, He mote rehearse as nye as ever he can: Everich word of it been in his charge, All speke he never so rudely ne large.
They wrote each other little notes, in which Lady Kirkbank called the dressmaker her cher ange her bonne chatte, her chère vielle sotte and all manner of affectionate names and in which Seraphine occasionally threatened the lady with the dire engines of the law, if money were not forthcoming before Saturday evening.
"I think Mignonette would suit you better," he said, in his quick, caressing way. "It's time I chose a name for you, ma chère. I shall call you that." "Or just Nonette of Nowhere," breathed the red lips, piteously smiling. "That would suit me best of all." "No no!" said Saltash, and gently relinquished his hold. "Don't forget that you are a favourite of the gods!
"I should hope that God would help me to feel right," said Mary. "I am very much afraid He will not, ma chere. I asked Him a great many times to help me, when I found how wrong it all was; but He did not. You remember what you told me the other day, that, if I would do right, I must not see that man any more.
They knew Madame d'Ambre, knew her very well indeed, for they called her "Madeleine" or "Chère Lena." Nevertheless, she did not appear pleased to see them. "Bon soir, mes amies," she said evasively, and would have passed on, but, laughingly, they stopped her.
J. B. P. arrived yesterday, he has not given me a letter, or any other thing from you. He suspects, however, that he has at least a letter; a fact which he will endeavour to ascertain in the course of this week. I wrote you two letters on my way up, addressed to 135 Greenwich-street. Is that right? Adieu, chere amie, Albany, 11th February, 1799.
"I wish to pray to God and make a thousand reflections; but, Ma pauvre chere, what I do better than all that is to think of you. .. I see you, you are present to me, I think and think again of everything; my head and my mind are racked; but I turn in vain, I seek in vain; the dear child whom I love with so much passion is two hundred leagues away. I have her no more.
"Your aunt," said the Contessa, looking round, "that dear Lady Randolph who is now Dowager. Chère dame!" she added, half rising, holding out again both hands. Lady Randolph the elder knew the world better than Lucy. She remained in the background into which the Contessa was looking with eyes which she called shortsighted. "How do you do, Madame di Forno-Populo!" she said.
Now at last she did understand, and the knowledge filled her with awe. "Mother! Do you mean that we have been living all this time on capital?" Mrs Gifford shrugged her shoulders, and extended her hands in an attitude typically French. "What would you, ma chere? Interest is so ridiculously low. They offered me three per cent. Four was considered high.
"But how are we to get them out of it?" rejoined Catharine. "I doubt the fish will swim at their ease there, while we go hungry." "Do not interrupt me, ma chere. Then, we see the track of deer, and the holes of the wood-chuck; we hear the cry of squirrels and chipmunks, and there are plenty of partridges, and ducks, and quails, and snipes; of course, we have to contrive some way to kill them.
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