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Updated: June 8, 2025
Her frank directness struck him as refreshing, and he answered readily: "The lady you saw in the Côte d'Azur Rapide was my sister-in-law, Mrs Matheson. Mrs Clifford Matheson." "The wife of that man!" she interrupted. There was anger and contempt in her voice. "You know him?" "My father lost the last remains of his money in one of that man's companies. It hastened his death." "Which company?"
In the meantime, however, the yacht was a comfortable home, the Cote d'Azur was a new field of observation, J. P. and his secretaries were extremely interesting, the honorarium was accumulating steadily, and in the background Barbados still slept in the sunshine, an emerald in a sapphire sea. During the afternoon I had a visit from Jabez E. Dunningham, the major- domo.
She knew the place well. Many a time had she looked at the attractive posters in the windows, those gorgeous fly sheets that told of winter in summer among the mountains of Switzerland and the Tyrol, and of summer in winter along the sunlit shores of the Côte d'Azur.
"She would have caught the Côte d'Azur this morning but there was no place on the train." Hunterleys was perplexed. Some time after luncheon he enquired for Lady Hunterleys and found that she was not in the hotel. A reception clerk thought that he had seen her go through on her way to the Sporting Club. Hunterleys, after some moments of indecision, followed her.
"If you ever go," said Geoffrey, earnestly, "don't fail to lunch at the Hotel Côte d'Azur. They give you the most amazing selection of hors d'oeuvres you ever saw. Crayfish as big as baby lobsters! And there's a fish I've forgotten it's name, it'll come back to me that's just like the Florida pompano. Be careful to have it broiled, not fried. Otherwise you lose the flavour.
The tall white-painted houses reminded me of Paris Lyons, as seen from the windows of La Cote d'Azur at the end of a grey December day might be Paris. The climate seemed the same; the sky was as sloppy and as grey.
I arranged evidence of a violent death, in the belief that it would be accepted by my friends and by the Courts. My wife would be freed; she would come into my property; and I myself should be free to carry out in quiet the scientific work I'd planned." "Which was the reason?" "The last." "Your wife, then, is the woman I saw in the Côte d'Azur Rapide?" "Yes."
Well, be that as it may, it doesn't alter the fact that you've put out the wrong coat. Be so good, Jeeves," I said, indicating with a gesture the gent's ordinary dinner jacket or smoking, as we call it on the Côte d'Azur, which was suspended from the hanger on the knob of the wardrobe, "as to shove that bally black thing in the cupboard and bring out my white mess-jacket with the brass buttons."
Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Conde coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity as if she had asked him to do it. "Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d'azur maison Conde," said he.
Rousseau, we remember, mentions such sand as the proper material to be resorted to by one who would be very particular in his correspondence, "employant pour cela le plus beau papier doré, séchant l'écriture avec de la poudre d'azur et d'argent"; and Moore repeats the precept in the example of M. le Colonel Calicot, according to the text of Miss Biddy, in the "Fudge Family in Paris":
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