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Updated: June 4, 2025
No, it is like other balloons, except that well there is needed merely a handful of silvery dust to which you touch a drop of water piff! puff! c'est fini! The balloon is filled." "And what is this silvery dust?" he asked, laughing.
"Messieurs," said I, "will you be so good as to inform me if the emperor is to be here to-day?" "No," they replied, "he comes on Sunday." "And what is to be done here, then?" I asked. "Here," they replied, "to-day? Nothing; c'est fini it is all over. The review was at one o'clock."
His muscles were all relaxed by drink. He fell prone as the heavy black jacks descended upon his head, muffled in the hood of his "dreadnaught." "Ah! V'la un affaire bien fini! Allons! Jettez-le!" growled the grim boatswain, dropping his loaded club, as all three spurned the prostrate body, and then, with a heavy lurch, it bounded off the sodden bank plunging downward, over the cliff.
I know well enough that I shall never get the memory of you out of my brain; your face will haunt me till I die!" "And after death?" she queried, half-closing her eyes, and regarding him languorously through her silky black lashes. "Ah, ma belle, after that there is nothing to be done even in the way of love. Tout est fini!
In the last year of his life he produced with approbation "a favourite saying of Ptolemy the astronomer, which Bacon quotes in its Latin version thus: Quum fini appropinquas, bonum cum augmento operare" "As you draw near to your latter end, redouble your efforts to do good." And this redoubled effort was in his case all of a piece with what had gone before.
For all the artists came to study and copy them: among others Michelangelo, whose nose was broken by the turbulent Torrigiano, a fellow-student, under this very roof. Tommaso di Ser Giovanni, or Masaccio, the son of a notary, was born in 1402. His master is not known, but Tommaso Fini or Masolino, born in 1383, is often named.
We must have searchlights, of course; then, when one sees those shadows, those great black Gothas, vite! la lumière! Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop! C'est fini!" The discussion of the possibility or impossibility of night combat continued warmly. The majority of opinion was unfavorable to it: a useless waste of gasoline; the results would not pay for the wear and tear upon valuable fighting planes.
"Do you mind sculling?" said Fleur severely. "I want to get in." "Ah!" said Mont; "but when you get in, you see, I shan't see you any more to-day. Fini, as the French girl said when she jumped on her bed after saying her prayers. Don't you bless the day that gave you a French mother, and a name like yours?" "I like my name, but Father gave it me. Mother wanted me called Marguerite."
He sit down at the table, and look at the jewels and laugh to himself. Then she draw herself up, and shake, and put her hands to her eyes, and 'C'est fini! c'est fini! she whisper, and that is all.
My sins were all peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor's property my neighbor's wife. Do you see, dear uncle?" Mr. Wentworth ought to have seen; his cold blue eyes were intently fixed. "And then, c'est fini! It 's all over. Je me range. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can earn my living a very fair one by going about the world and painting bad portraits.
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