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This youth, called by L'Etoile Vermond, and by Bassompierre Charmond, made his way to Paris as best he might, and arrived in the capital after Marguerite had taken up her residence as already stated in the Faubourg St. Antoine.
But how do I know what Grace's notions may be? You see, she has been away among cultivated folks a good while; and now this acquaintance with Mrs. Charmond Well, I'll ask her. I can say no more." When Winterborne was gone the timber-merchant went on his way.
Melbury did not know enough to give the gist of the incident, which was that Marty South's letter had been concerning a certain personal adornment common to herself and Mrs. Charmond. Her bullet reached its billet at last. The scene between Fitzpiers and Felice had been sharp, as only a scene can be which arises out of the mortification of one woman by another in the presence of a lover.
Charmond, particularly ready and willing to be wooed by himself and nobody else. "Well, she isn't that," he said, finally. "But she's a very sweet, nice, exceptional girl." The next morning he breakfasted alone, as usual. It was snowing with a fine-flaked desultoriness just sufficient to make the woodland gray, without ever achieving whiteness.
Charmond and Fitzpiers had been seen together in Baden, in relations which set at rest the question that had agitated the little community ever since the winter. Melbury had entered the Valley of Humiliation even farther than Grace. His spirit seemed broken.
Charmond turn us out of our house if she's minded to?" "Turn us out? No. Nobody can turn us out till my poor soul is turned out of my body. 'Tis life-hold, like Ambrose Winterborne's. But when my life drops 'twill be hers not till then." His words on this subject so far had been rational and firm enough.
Charmond was far too well-practised a woman not to know that to show a marked patronage to a sensitive young girl who would probably be very quick to discern it, was to demolish her dignity rather than to establish it in that young girl's eyes.
"One thing made it tolerable to us that your husband should come back to the house," said Melbury at last "the death of Mrs. Charmond." "Ah, yes," said Grace, arousing slightly to the recollection, "he told me so." "Did he tell you how she died? It was no such death as Giles's. She was shot by a disappointed lover. It occurred in Germany. The unfortunate man shot himself afterwards.
Charmond is thoughtlessly bad, not bad by calculation; and just a word to her now might save 'ee a peck of woes." "Ah, I loved her once," said Grace, with a broken articulation, "and she would not care for me then! Now I no longer love her. Let her do her worst: I don't care." "You ought to care. You have got into a very good position to start with.
But they thought it possible that it might hasten him into his grave, though in another way than by falling. "I tell you what," added Winterborne, "I'll climb up this afternoon and shroud off the lower boughs, and then it won't be so heavy, and the wind won't affect it so." "She won't allow it a strange woman come from nobody knows where she won't have it done." "You mean Mrs. Charmond?
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