Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 25, 2025
"It's true." "You have done it?" "Yes. The Padrone is worth knowing. He but to-night you will know him. Yes, Frisio's is characteristic. Vere will be amused." With a light tone he hid a faint chagrin. "What fun!" repeated Vere. "If I had diamonds I should put them on." She too was hiding something, one sentiment with another very different.
Here Sarah Bernhardt had ordered a dozen bottles of famous old wine to be sent to the Avenue Pereire from the cellars of Frisio, and had fallen in love with a cat from Greece. Here Matilde Serao had penned a lasting testimony to the marital fidelity of her husband. Everything everything had happened here, just here, at Frisio's.
But she remembered also her guest's hospitality at Frisio's, and her social instinct defied her natural reluctance to be lively. She said to herself that she was rapidly developing into a fogey, and must rigorously combat the grievous tendency. By a sheer exertion of will-power she drove herself into a different, and conversational, mood. The Marchesino politely responded.
"A rivederci, Signora! A demain! Andrea, take care of the Signora. Treat her as you would treat the Madonna. Do you hear?" The boatman grinned and took off his cap, and the boat glided away across the path of yellow light that was shed from the window of Frisio's. Hermione leaned back against the white cushions. She was thankful to escape. She felt tired and confused.
We shall take our coffee after dinner outside upon the terrace at the one and only Frisio's." He chattered on gayly. His eyes were always on Vere, but he talked chiefly to Hermione, with the obvious intention of fascinating the mother in order that she might be favorably disposed towards him, and later on smile indulgently upon his flirtation with the daughter.
Hermione felt that Artois' mood to-night echoed his mood at Frisio's, and suddenly she thought once more of the visitors' book and of what he had written there, surely in a moment of almost heated impulse. And as she thought of it she was moved to speak of her thought. She had so many secret reserves from Emile now that this one she could dispense with.
The Macaroni a l'Imperatrice had been the favorite plat of the dead Empress Elizabeth of Austria, who used to visit Frisio's day after day, and who always demanded two things an eruption of Vesuvius and "Funiculi, funicula!"
Then he will ask you, and we shall be a quartet." "I will stay," said Artois, with a sudden return of his authoritative manner. "It seems that I am woefully ignorant of the Bay," continued Hermione. "I have never dined at Frisio's. Everybody goes there at least once. Everybody has been there. Emperors, kings, queens, writers, singers, politicians, generals they all eat fish at Frisio's."
When he caught sight of Artois on the steps behind Hermione and Vere, however, he could not repress an exclamation of "Emilio!" He took Hermione's and Vere's hands, bowed over them and kissed them. Then he turned to his friend. "Caro Emilio! You are back! You must come with us! You must dine at Frisio's." "May I?" said Artois. "You must. This is delightful.
"Monsieur Emile, you must write in the wonderful book of Frisio's," she exclaimed. "We will all write, Signorina!" cried the Marchesino. "Bring the book, Signor Masella!" The Padrone hastened away to fetch it, but Vere shook her head. "No, no, we must not write! We are nobodies. Monsieur Emile is a great man. Only he is worthy of such a book. Isn't it so, Madre?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking