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Updated: May 23, 2025
A significant answer had before occurred to Gard. These four personages could write marvelously well while Charlemagne could scarcely even write his name. Had he been a great author, why would not his fame be burning brightly like theirs? In every institution of education their classic language is kept before both youth and professor. Their cults accordingly grow.
He decided on a seat alone in the center. Herr Professor, be-spectacled, soon clambered up on the rostrum and squatted dumpily. Blear-eyed he scanned the place and blurted out: "There is a stranger in the room. The lecture will not proceed until he departs." Gard, having been assured by the janitor, could not imagine that he himself was meant.
He was ashamed enough. To be carried to his room in the odor of champagne and with a girl's silk stockings in his pocket! He Gard Kirtley! Was this the low estate to which German life had brought him? But he soon observed that the Buchers cared nothing about all this. Young men, as we have seen, were expected to go on larks. No one spoke of the distressing occurrence.
Kindly old Rebner had hinted that it would not be amiss in Gard to bring home one of the excellent German mädchens with her brimming stock of health and efficiency. "She would be an answer to our American servant girl question, flood your fireside with invigorating music, and rear a house full of robust children. It would be a novel and commendable experiment and experience for you, Kirtley."
Besides, here was opened up a novel and suggestive line of behavior from the standpoint of the German young man of the world. Gard was left with confused feelings that drooped their wings in displeasure if not distress. So there was a rival, and of long standing, on the little rosy sea of his romance! And this was he. Was it a wonder that Elsa had "spells"? Here was a true heart-breaker.
Wherever they settled they founded manufactures cotton- mills, silk-factories, manufactures of woollen stuffs many of which have flourished in these small towns on the outskirts of the Cevennes till this day. The Gard is foremost of all other departments in the matter of silk- worm rearing, the Ardeche alone surpassing it in the number of silk- factories.
The first thing that followed was the dish of butter, which hurtled past Gard's head and crashed into the face of the clock, and then fell with a flop to the earthen floor. The next was Tom's lowered head and cumbrous body, as he charged like a bull into Gard and both rolled to the ground, the table escaping catastrophe by a hair's-breadth. Mrs.
For this poor thing, whatever it was, was not Stephen Gard and never had been. She wanted to sing and dance and scream her joy aloud. They had not found him. "What is this, John Drillot?" asked Julie, alongside her, black with anger, as she pointed to the body. "Ma fé a ghost, they say.
"They're due elsewhere, I know, but they could join us." The curtain was already rising and Gard, excusing himself, found his way to the masculine sanctuary, the directors' box, of which he rarely availed himself, and from a shadowy corner observed his débutante and her beautiful mother through his powerful opera glasses.
A case of robbery, they say but the coroner's verdict hasn't been given yet. He was hit in the head with a pistol but I think, sir, they'll want you; you saw him last night, they say after you left me. Have you any instructions to give me, sir?" Gard reflected. "I don't know," he wavered. "Hold all the good men in your service you can for me and remember what I told you." He turned to the two men.
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