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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Yes, my Lady; Dame Tremblay turned the Chateau upside down, looking for it; but I dared not tell her I had it!" "I think you speak truth, Fanchon!" replied Angelique, getting somewhat over her passion; but her bosom still heaved, like the ocean after a storm.
He, the lady-killer, with his hypocritical air of strength and melancholy sweetness, the leader of drunken revels, and, by reputation, the town Lothario and Light-o'-Love, under promise of marriage to Fanchon Bareaud, had tried to make love to another girl, and now his cowardice in trying to disclaim what he had done lent him the insolence to say to this other: "My child, you are betrayed by your youth and conceit; you exaggerate my meaning.
"We ought to liven them up a little!" She approached the musicians. "Don't you know," she asked the leader, "the Slingo Sligo Slide?" The leader giggled, nodded, rapped with his bow upon his violin; and Penrod, following Fanchon back upon the dancing floor, blindly brushed with his elbow a solitary little figure standing aloof on the lawn at the edge of the platform. It was Marjorie.
He immediately sneaked in by the back way, for, in spite of her victory, she still felt a little sorry for poor Fanchon. If it be true that love is the great incentive to the useless arts, the number of gentlemen who became poets for the sake of Miss Betty Carewe need not be considered extraordinary.
"That has nothing to do with it," said Crailey, impatiently; and he was the more earnest because he remembered the dangerous geography of the Carewe house, which made it impossible for anyone to leave the cupola-room except by the long hall which passed certain doors. "I will not go, and what's more, I promised Fanchon I'd try to keep you out of it hereafter."
"Let us be patient, my Fanchon." "He went to guide the priest across the hills. Why does not God guide him back?" "My Fanchon, let us be patient." "The priest was young, and my father has grey hair." "Wilt thou not be patient, my child?" "He filled the knapsack of the priest with food better than his own, and thou didst not see it put money in his hand." "My own, the storm may pass."
"Don't cut into the leather with your new knife, dear; the livery man might ask us to pay if No. I wouldn't scrape the paint off, either nor whittle your shoe with it. COULDN'T you put it up until we get home?" "We goin' straight home?" "No. We're going to stop at Mrs. Gelbraith's and ask a strange little girl to come to your party, this afternoon." "Who?" "Her name is Fanchon. She's Mrs.
He had taught little Fanchon, a small French spaniel of his father's, to find out the trees where the bees hived, and also the nests of the ground-bees, and she would bark at the foot of the tree, or scratch with her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at the squirrels or the woodchucks; but Fanchon was far away, and Wolfe was old, and would learn no new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his own observation and the axe to depend upon for procuring honey.
Helen and Margaret Maynard went by on the far edge of that stream. Across the hall he caught a glimpse of the flashing golden beauty of Bessy Bell. Then near at hand he recognized Fanchon Smith, a petite, smug-faced little brunette, with naked shoulders bulging out of a piebald gown. She espied Lane and her face froze.
The mother of those girls never smiled once since that day, and her hair turned snow white. That was in 'seventy-nine. I remember it perfectly. The boat's name was 'Fanchon." "But that was a sail boat, Aunt Wess'," objected Laura. "Ours is a steam yacht. There's all the difference in the world."
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