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Updated: May 5, 2025
Mrs. James McGill was born in Montreal in 1747, the daughter of William Guillemin and Claire Genevieve Foucault. She married Joseph A. T. Desrivières in Montreal on the 19th of September, 1763, at the age of sixteen. Soon after his arrival in Montreal James McGill acquired the Burnside estate of forty-six acres, with the Burnside Manor, in which he resided during the remainder of his life.
When they refused to hear Favras's witnesses in exculpation, he compared them to the tribunal of the Inquisition. The principal charge against him was founded on a letter from M. de Foucault, asking him, "where are your troops? in which direction will they enter Paris? I should like to be employed among them."
She ought to have known that only youth and slimness have the right to appeal to the feelings by indecent abandonments. Such were the thoughts that mingled with the sympathy of the beautiful and slim Sophia as she bent down to Madame Foucault. She was sorry for her landlady, but at the same time she despised her, and resented her woe. "What is the matter?" she asked quietly.
Sophia helped her, morally rather than physically, to rise, and then persuaded her into the large bedroom. Madame Foucault fell on the bed, of which the counterpane had been thrown over the foot. Sophia covered the lower part of her heaving body with the counterpane. "Now, calm yourself, please!"
"`Elutriation as applied to Emery and other Powders." Lastly he took up the fourth, and read half to himself "`The method practised by Monsieur Foucault in silvering the surfaces of glass specula. I seem to have dipped into the wrong drawer, dad," he said coolly. James Brandon groaned. "I made so sure that I had got the right things. They do look like legal papers, don't they?"
Owing to the partial suppression of the ordinary railway services in favour of military needs, Madame Foucault could not hope to go and return on the same day. Sophia had lent her a louis. Pans of sulphur were mysteriously burning in each of the three front rooms, and two pairs of doors had been pasted over with paper, to prevent the fumes from escaping. The charwoman had departed.
Laurence told her not to worry, and went off to show the bracelet to Madame Foucault. She had privately decided that this was a pleasure which, after all, she could not deny herself. About a fortnight later it was a fine Saturday in early August Sophia, with a large pinafore over her dress, was finishing the portentous preparations for disinfecting the flat.
Also she regarded the advent of the grocer as a reward from Providence for her self-denial in refusing the profits of sinfulness. Sophia felt personally responsible to the grocer for his comfort, and so she herself undertook the preparation of the room. Madame Foucault was amazed at the thoroughness of her housewifery, and at the ingenuity of her ideas for the arrangement of furniture.
Madame Foucault contentedly went up to the sixth floor to occupy the servant's bedroom. She was glad to get so far away from the sulphur, of which a few faint fumes had penetrated into the corridor. The next morning, after a stifling night of bad dreams, Sophia was too ill to get up.
At four o'clock, the weather being more magnificent than ever, Madame Foucault said: "If we took a promenade on the boulevard?" Sophia reflected. They were partners. "Very well," she agreed. The boulevard was crammed with gay, laughing crowds. All the cafes were full. None, who did not know, could have guessed that the news of Sedan was scarcely a day old in the capital.
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