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Updated: May 20, 2025
Even in those days the house was always shut, and Madame Delphine's chief occupation and end in life seemed to be to keep well locked up in-doors. She was an excellent person, the neighbors said, a very worthy person; and they were, maybe, nearer correct then they knew.
But we hardly give the event its right name. It was Capitaine Lemaìtre who had disappeared; it was Monsieur Vignevielle who had come back. The pleasures, the haunts, the companions, that had once held out their charms to the impetuous youth, offered no enticements to Madame Delphine's banker.
"Oh, Père Jerome! I wan' see you so bad, so bad! Mo oulé dit quiç'ose, I godd some' to tell you." The two languages might be more successful than one, she seemed to think. "We had better go back to my parlor," said the priest, in their native tongue. They returned. Madame Delphine's very step was altered, nervous and inelastic. She swung one arm as she walked, and brandished a turkey-tail fan.
The mockingbird cannot withhold; he breaks into song she turns she turns her face it is she, it is she! Madame Delphine's daughter is the girl he met on the ship. She was just passing seventeen that beautiful year when the heart of the maiden still beats quickly with the surprise of her new dominion, while with gentle dignity her brow accepts the holy coronation of womanhood.
To the soiree which drew from him this jibe, he had been invited to meet Sheridan's granddaughter an English bore, he styled her who looked him up and down through an eye-glass as if he were an actor. His relations with Emile, Delphine's husband, continued to be marked by breezes.
He threw on the table before Blount a soiled and wrinkled bit of linen, the same mysterious handkerchief which he had put in his pocket at the train wreck long ago. "Did you ever see that before?" asked he. Blount sat up straighter and looked closely at the object, but shook his head. "It might be Delphine's," said Eddring.
"It is not true, Madame Thompson!" cried a girl's voice. Madame Delphine's look became one of wildest distress and alarm, and she opened her lips in a vain attempt to utter some request, when Olive appeared a moment in the door, and then flew into her arms. "My mother! my mother! my mother!"
We say no color of shell on face or throat; but this was no deficiency, that which took its place being the warm, transparent tint of sculptured ivory. This side doorway which led from Madame Delphine's house into her garden was over-arched partly by an old remnant of vine-covered lattice, and partly by a crape-myrtle, against whose small, polished trunk leaned a rustic seat.
I am only too glad that she can fling her Winter Garment of Repentance into the Fires of Paris Springtide. She has little enough enjoyment in friendless London. Fill your heart with it, my dear, and lay up a store for use in the dull months to come. For my part, however, I am content to be beyond the reach of Delphine's great arm. I must write to Judith.
They rarely saw her save when she went to or returned from church; a small, rather tired-looking, dark quadroone of very good features and a gentle thoughtfulness of expression which it would take long to describe: call it a widow's look. In speaking of Madame Delphine's house, mention should have been made of a gate in the fence on the Royal-street sidewalk.
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