Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 9, 2025
"Why, there's something red on the gold. It's blood!" I stammered, forgetting to thank him. "Is there? What a bore! But it's nothing. I grazed the skin of my hands a little, grubbing about among the stones down there, that's all." "It's a great deal," I said. "I can't bear to think you've been hurt for me." "Why, I don't even feel it," said the Chauffeulier. "It's the bag that suffers.
Here and there we would see a coarse-featured face as dark as that of a Mongolian, or would hear a few curious words which the Chauffeulier said were Slavic. The biting, alkaline names of the small Dalmatian towns through which we ran seemed to shrivel our tongues and dry up our systems.
We had nothing to say that all the world might not have heard, yet instinctively we spoke almost in whispers, the Chauffeulier and I, not to miss a gurgle of the water nor the dip of an oar, which in the soft darkness made the light flutter of a bird bathing. I remembered suddenly how Sir Ralph had said one day, "You'll like Terry in Venice."
I could have slapped her and myself too. "Aunt Kathryn!" exclaimed Maida. Then I could have slapped her as well for interfering. It would serve her right if I married her off to the Prince. The Chauffeulier looked for a second as if he were going to say "Very well, madam; do as you like about that." But Maida's little reproachful exclamation apparently poured balm upon his troubled soul.
We hadn't been in Venice for twenty-four hours before we saw that the Chauffeulier knew the place almost as if he had been born there. He was even well up in the queer, soft Venetian patois, with hardly a consonant left in it, so well up that he announced himself capable of bandying words and measuring swords with the curiosity-shop keepers, if we liked to "collect anything."
With such dramatic gestures as only the Latin races command, he attempted to prove that the mud-guard must have been broken in the collision near Bergamo, of which his mind was full. At last our Chauffeulier comprehended something. He jumped out of the throbbing car, and in his turn went through a pantomime.
"I'm different from other little girls. You said so yourself. Besides what is your age?" "Twenty-nine." "You look about nineteen. Our Chauffeulier looks older than you do." "Chauffeulier? Oh, I see, that's your name for Terry. It's rather smart." "I call it a title, not a name," said I. "I thought he ought to have one, so I dubbed him that." "He ought to be complimented." "I mean him to be."
Barrymore. "Where's that other place you spoke of?" she inquired, half-ashamed. "There's a a kind of excitement in this sort of thing, isn't there? I feel as if it might grow on me." "We'll go to Beppo's," replied the Chauffeulier, laughing.
And the beautiful buildings seemed to say pensively, like lovely court ladies whose day is past, "We are not what we were. Time has changed and broken us, it is true; but even so we are worth seeing." It was that view which our Chauffeulier urged, but Aunt Kathryn was for going on without a stop, until Sir Ralph said, "It's not patriotic of you to pass by.
There was a shorter way, but the route-book of the Italian Touring Club which the Chauffeulier pinned his faith to in emergencies, showed that the surface of the other road was not so good. Udine tried to copy Venice in miniature, and I loved it for its ambition; but what interested me the most was to hear from Mr.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking