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I think it will nearly kill me to do it. I am so ashamed; our dress, you know, Julie." And by the dull glimmer of the camp-fire Julie could see that her mistress' face was like a freshly-blown carnation. "I would not mind telling mon chef, ma maitresse; Monsieur Stephens will prize you all the more for your bravery.
He was dressed as a chef, all in white, with the sacred cap; but a soiled white. Everything in the place was untidy, unkempt and more or less unclean, except just the table upon which champagne was waiting. And yet the restaurant was agreeable, reassuring. The landlord greeted his customers as honest friends. His greasy face was honest, and so was the pale, weary, humorous face of his wife.
"H'm," muttered Smith, and automatically he took out and began to fill his pipe. "I can offer you no company but my own, gentlemen," continued Van Roon, "but unless it interferes with your plans, you may find the surrounding district of interest and worthy of inspection, between now and dinner time. By the way, I think I can promise you quite a satisfactory meal, for Hagar is a model chef."
Even when Mildmay suggested the possibility that life might still be lingering in some poor wretch aboard the stranger, he still hesitated, questioning the prudence of exposing eight healthy persons or eleven, if they included Ida's nurse, George, and the chef below to serious risks of infection upon so remote a probability, as that there might possibly be a survivor of the tragedy still existing.
There, terrified, she remained for an hour. When all danger was over, the chef of the barricade caused her to be reconducted home by the eldest of his men. "He expected to be shot. I had him set at liberty." We shook hands. He asked me, "Shall we conquer?" "Yes," I answered. We then could hardly entertain a doubt.
And the arrival of a princely blue motor car at the nearest inn was such a shock to the nerves of the landlady and her staff that the interval before lunch was as long and solemn as the Dead March in Saul. To show what he could do in an emergency, the chef slaughtered and cooked every animal within reach for miles around.
To the provincial mind, the fact that she dyed her hair, ordered her frocks from Paris, and kept a French chef to cook her food, were all so many indications of an altogether worldly and abandoned character and of a wealth that was secretly to be envied and the more venomous among Audrey's detractors lived in the perennial hope of some day unveiling the scandal which they were convinced lay hidden in her past.
Well, I'm glad to see you taking it in this merry spirit." "Derisively," I explained. "I won't do it. That's final. I simply will not do it." "You will do it, young Bertie, or never darken my doors again. And you know what that means. No more of Anatole's dinners for you." A strong shudder shook me. She was alluding to her chef, that superb artist.
Adolph Gotts, who had the contract for the city paving and hoped to renew it, was present for the sole purpose, as he stated privately, of keeping the human catamount off his back. Others in the merry party were Abram Cone and Y. Fred Smart. The dinner was the most elaborate the chef had been able to devise, the domestic champagne was as free as the air, and Mr.
The Jim Blaisdells met them at the club for a dinner at which David was host. It was a nicely appointed dinner, the best the chef could contrive. Also it was distinctly an extravagance. But David did not care. His spirits ran high, in a gaiety that was infectious. It was a very successful party.
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