Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 12, 2025
"In the shop of M. Dumoulin, Mademoiselle," broke in Clyffurde with his good-humoured smile. "M. Dumoulin, the glovemaker, with whom I was transacting business at the moment when M. de Marmont walked in, in order to buy himself a pair of gloves." "Of course," she added coldly, "I had forgotten. .
The tables will be turned, eh, my dear Clyffurde?" he added, giving his taciturn friend a jovial dig in the ribs, "and what lovely discomfiture for our proud aristocrats, eh? They will be sorry to have made an enemy of Victor de Marmont, what?" Whereupon Clyffurde made a violent effort to appear friendly and jovial too.
"Don't say that, Clyffurde," once more broke in de Marmont, and this time more vehemently than before. "When you speak like that I could almost forget our friendship." "Whether I say it or not, my good de Marmont," rejoined Clyffurde with his good-humoured smile, "you will anyhow within the next few months days, perhaps bury our friendship beneath the ashes of your patriotism.
Clyffurde felt an intense an unreasoning pity for her, and because of that pity the gentle kinsman of fierce love he found it in his heart to forgive her all her prejudices, that almost arrogant pride of caste which was in her blood, for which she was no more responsible than she was for the colour of her hair or the vivid blue of her eyes; she seemed so forlorn such a child, in the midst of all this decadent grandeur.
He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot.
Father and lover were sitting together even now discussing values the purchase price "You give me back my lands, I will give you my daughter!" Blood money! soul money! Clyffurde called it as he ground his teeth together in impotent rage.
Her voice broke in a kind of passionate sob, and it took her a moment or two to recover herself, even while Clyffurde stood by, mute and with well-nigh broken heart, his very soul so filled with sorrow for her that there was no room in it even for resentment.
Clyffurde would gladly have bartered the future years of his life for the power to stay the hand of Time just now for the power to remain just like this, standing before this beautiful woman whom he loved, feeling that at any moment he could take her in his arms and kiss her eyes and her lips, even if she were unwilling, even if she hated him for ever afterwards.
"But are we not in Grenoble yet?" Once more he lapsed into silence, closed his eyes and to all intents and purposes fell asleep, for never another word did de Marmont get out of him, until Grenoble was reached and the rue Montorge. Here de Marmont had his lodgings, three doors from the "Hôtel des Trois-Dauphins," where fortunately Clyffurde managed to secure a comfortable room for himself.
M. Clyffurde," he added loudly, calling to the Englishman who had just appeared in the doorway of the inn, "my grateful thanks to you not only for your courtesy, but for expediting that delicious déjeuner which tickles my appetite so pleasantly. I pray you sit down without delay. I shall have to make an early start after the meal, as I must be inside Grenoble before dark."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking