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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Well, if those reports have not informed you of my arrest in the heart of the Exposition des Mirlitons, on Wednesday, they have told you nothing! "Arrested! you?" "By the agents of Monsieur Jouvenet, your Prefect of Police, to gratify your mistress, Mademoiselle Kayser!" "Ah! my dear Guy!" said the minister, whose cheek became flushed in spots. "I should be glad if you "
Marianne Kayser was evidently waiting for Sulpice. She received him in her little, brilliantly-lighted salon, superb amid these lights, in a red satin robe de chambre that lent a strange seductiveness to her bare arms and neck which shone with a pale and pearly lustre beneath the light.
Guy de Lissac shook through his entire frame, as he too heard it. "Monsieur Simon Kayser and Mademoiselle Kayser!" cried the usher. Still another name rang out from that clarion voice: "Monsieur le Duc de Rosas!" Neither Vaudrey nor Adrienne heard this name. Sulpice felt urged to rush toward Marianne to entreat her to leave. It is true, he had invited her.
Partial evidence to the same effect had earlier been alleged by Lockyer, as well as by Liveing and Dewar; and the case was rendered tolerably complete by photographs taken by Kayser and Runge in 1889. It was by Professor Rowland shown to be irresistible.
Claire Dujarrier advanced the hundred thousand francs demanded by Mademoiselle Kayser, and which she had apparently in reality she took them from her own funds borrowed from Adolphe Gochard, her lover, who had not a sou, and in whose favor Vaudrey signed in regular legal form, a bill of exchange at three months' date value received in cash.
At these words she seemed more amused than ever. "I don't speak German," she answered in English, with a strong American accent. Having captured all the sheets, Maurice tried to arrange them for her. "It's my Kayser," she explained with a quick, upward glance, adding the next minute with a fresh ripple of laughter. "He's all to pieces." "You have too much to carry," said Maurice.
"I thank God I haven't such a cold heart as you." "And I thank God I'm not a romantic idiot. But your name's not Thekla for nothing I suppose." "My name's as good as yours. And I won't be looked down on because my father was once a German." "'Mr. Kayser, do you vant to buy a dawg?" hummed Miss Snodgrass. "Girls, girls!" admonished Miss Chapman. "How you two do bicker. There, that's Mrs.
Uncle Kayser, entirely engrossed in the "dignity of art," and occupied with the composition of an allegorical production entitled The Modern Family, a page of pure, mystic, social, regenerative art, had certainly forgotten his niece; nevertheless, Lissac at times felt somewhat tempted to restore her to him. He was grieved at the thought of abandoning Marianne to another.
So Kayser consoled himself for this escapade by the sacredness of art, the only sacredness he recognized. On that indeed he yielded nothing. What mattered it to the world, if a girl went astray, even if that girl were his niece? Public morality was not hurt thereby.
He chatted with a man about sixty years old, with a white beard and very gentle eyes who listened to him good-naturedly while thinking perhaps of something else. "Ah! my old Ramel, how glad I am to see you!" he said with theatrical effusion. "It is a fact that we rarely see each other. What has become of you, Kayser?" "I? I work.
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