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Updated: May 5, 2025
It was not until past nine o'clock that evening that my friend returned to the hotel. He described how Suzor on arrival at the Gare du Nord had been met by a young English lady, and the pair had driven straight to the Rotonde Restaurant at the corner of the Boulevard Haussmann, where they had dined together.
I got up to buy a Fantasio at the stand ten steps away, and the older jumped up and escorted me to and from it. I think I asked him what he would read? and he said "Nothing." Maybe I bought him a journal. So we waited, eyed by everyone in the Gare, laughed at by the officers and their marraines, pointed at by sinewy dames and decrepit bonhommes the centre of amusement for the whole station.
"I meant to disappear and give you your freedom and the greater part of my property," answered Matheson steadily. "How freedom?" "On the night of March 14th, the night I said good-bye to you at the Gare de Lyon, I made a sudden decision to take up my brother's work and live his life. He has been dead a couple of years.
In summer, we'll go to the Glaciere with Navet, one of my pals, we'll bathe in the Gare, we'll run stark naked in front of the rafts on the bridge at Austerlitz, that makes the laundresses raging. They scream, they get mad, and if you only knew how ridiculous they are! We'll go and see the man-skeleton. And then I'll take you to the play. I'll take you to see Frederick Lemaitre.
In the winter he has an hotel at Mentone," he was looking up the train while he chatted happily. "There is a train every ten minutes," he said at last, "from the Gare du Nord.
And now he knew it in his heart to be nothing but a tawdry, commercial lie. Framed in oak on his walls hung kindly notes relating to the Cure from great personages or their secretaries. At the bottom of one ran the sprawling signature of the Grand Duke who had hailed him as "ce bon Sypher" at the Gare de Lyon when he started on the disastrous adventure of the blistered heel.
"The good God be blessed for intrigues! Without intrigues what would become of us poor concierges?" For Vernon Paris was empty the spring sunshine positively distasteful. He did what he could; he enquired at the Gare St. Lazare, describing Betty with careful detail that brought smiles to the lips of the employes. He would not call on Miss Voscoe.
And why has it been cut about with scissors?" The letter contained the following lines: "Daubrecq has spent the week at the Hotel Central. This morning he had his luggage taken to the Gare de and telephoned to reserve a berth in the sleeping-car for "I do not know when the train starts. But I shall be at the station all the afternoon. Come as soon as you can, all three of you.
"Well, you know," said Dick modestly, "a lot of them are historical. There's a mace used by a bishop, an ancestor of ours. He couldn't wield a sword in battle, so he cottoned on to that, and in order to salve his conscience before using it he would cry out 'Gare! gare! and they say that's what our name comes from see?
But this invitation Eugene declined, because as a French Prince under the fallen Government he had commanded the Marshals, and he therefore could not submit to be the last in rank among those illustrious military chiefs. Thus, at the expiration of nine years, fell the iron crown which Napoleon had placed on his head saying, "Dieu me l'a donne; gare a qui la touche."
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