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Updated: May 31, 2025
You may say there is nothing in this very commonplace adventure to sentimentalize about, and that when one plucks sentimentally a brand from the burning one should pick out a more valuable one. I certainly call it a picked day, at any rate, when I went to breakfast at St. Jouin, at the beautiful Ernestine's. Don't be alarmed; if I was just now too tame, I am not turning wild.
"You're always worrying about something," Milly said, when Ernestine pointed out this fact to her. "If the Cake Shop fails, I'll think up something else that will put us right," she added lightly, in the rôle of the fertile creator, and tripped off to the theatre. But that wasn't Ernestine's idea of business. She got out the books and went through them again.
Afterwards the play scarcely fulfilled the promise of its commencement. At the third act Trent had lost all interest in it. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. He drew a card from his pocket and, scribbling a word or two on it, passed it along to Lady Tresham. She leaned forward and smiled approval upon him. "Delightful!" Trent reached for his hat and whispered in Ernestine's ear.
The company prefers, equally of course, to have its breakfast in the orchard in front of the house; which, if the repast is good, will make it seem better still, and if it is poor, will carry off its poorness. I forget whether Ernestine's breakfast was intrinsically good or bad, but I distinctly remember enjoying it, and making everything welcome.
"There was a knock at the door both turned round. Ernestine's trim little maidservant was announcing a visitor who followed close behind. "Mr. Scarlett Trent." Ernestine was a delightful hostess, she loved situations, and her social tact was illimitable.
Schumann became greatly interested in Ernestine and for some time he had in mind an engagement with her. The noble "Études Symphoniques" were written this year. The theme was suggested by Ernestine's father. The "Carnival" was partly written in this year, but not completed till the following year.
Madame I said the Abbe Gelon and the Abbe Brice, and you add, 'And his son. It is your fault, dear. He must be a choir-boy, that cherub. Madame Well, but of whose son are you speaking? Her Friend Of Ernestine's son, don't you know, Albert, a picture of innocence. He heard your husband's pleasantry, and his mother was vexed. Madame My dear, I really don't know to what you refer.
As he sank back, his face in repose, Professor Hastings saw something of what the summer had done. Ernestine's eyes were upon him, a little reproachful, and beseeching. But before he could think of anything redeeming to say two other university men had been admitted. It was hard at first. Dr.
Dering had told them some things that she had not told Ernestine, among them these: "You have many times noticed how much more careful and anxious I have been of Ernestine's health than of yours. That was because I knew that God had given me my girls well and strong, and poor little Ernestine came, burdened with the fatal seeds of her mother's disease, consumption.
No one cried when the supreme moment came, though Kittie was heard to sniff suspiciously, and Kat stared straight at a certain spot in the ceiling, until she was pretty near sightless; while Ernestine's eyes rested on the young wife's face, with a loving wistful sadness, that was pathetic, and made Mr. Congreve whisk his handkerchief briskly about his eyes. Mrs.
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