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Delibes's music never rises to passion, but it is unfailingly tender and graceful, and is scored with consummate dexterity. He has a pretty feeling too for local colour, and the scene in Lakmé's garden is full of a dreamy sensuous charm. 'Le Roi l'a dit' is a dainty little work upon an old French subject, as graceful and fragile as a piece of Sèvres porcelain.
Forgetful of her own instigation, she demands who it was that suggested to him the horrible deed 'Qui te l'a dit? she shrieks: one of those astounding phrases which, once heard, can never be forgotten. She rushes out to commit suicide, and the play ends with Oreste mad upon the stage.
"Elle n'a que deux ans, et fait joliment le signe de la croix, et prend elle-meme de l'eau benite; et une fois se mit a crier, sortant de la Chapelle, a cause que sa mere qui la portoit ne lui avoit donne le loisir d'en prendre. Il l'a fallu reporter en prendre."
'Tu l'a voulu, George Dandin. She has fought at last: but not us. Out of Cherbourg we steamed again, sulky enough; for the delay would cause us to get home on the Sunday evening instead of the Sunday morning; and ran northward for the Needles. With what joy we saw at last the white wall of the island glooming dim ahead.
Venice remained for eight years under the Austrians, who thereby obtained what, in flagrant perversion of the principles on which the Congress of Vienna professed to act, was accepted in 1815 as their title-deeds to its possession. Meanwhile, after the battle of Austerlitz, the city of the sea was tossed back to Napoleon, who incorporated it in the newly-created kingdom of Italy, which no more corresponded to its name than did the Gothic kingdom of which he arrogated to himself the heirship, when, placing the Iron Crown of Theodolinda upon his brow, he uttered the celebrated phrase: 'Dieu me l'a donnée, gare
"Elle est bien habillee, La ville de Cambrai; Marafin l'a pillee..."* * The city of Cambrai is well dressed. Marafin plundered it. He did not finish.
Jeanette was well aware that, the childless old Duke being dead, her master had succeeded to the title, and she often spoke of him as Monsieur le Duc to his wife, which seems to have pleased the poor lady. When he was absent, Jeanette's ready excuse, "Eh, Madame! Pour Monsieur le Duc le Roi l'a fait appeller," was enough, and she waited patiently for his return.
In another compartment, Jules and Marie Victor sagely exchanged their lightning glances of Parisian acuteness. "C'est un homme magnifique!" murmured Marie, and Jules gravely nodded, "Peut-etre, notre maitresse l'a connu longtemps. II est tres tendre!" The staff-officer "furthered the Viceroy's business" by clasping both of Alixe Delavigne's prettily-gloved hands.
Curiosity was now the dominant passion in that small but vivid countenance. "Est-ce toi qui l'a tue, beau soldat?" "Oui, ma mie," said Denys, as gruffly as ever he could, rightly deeming this would smack of supernatural puissance to owners of bell-like trebles. "C'est moi. Ca vaut une petite embrassade pas?" "Je crois ben. Aie! aie!" "Qu'as-tu?" "Ca pique! ca pique!"
There is something infinitely pathetic in the epitaph this much-loved and successful woman wrote for herself when she felt that the end was near: Ici git Arthenice, exempte des rigueurs Don't la rigueur du sort l'a touours poursuivie. Et si tu veux, passant, compter tous ses malheurs, Tu n'aura qu'a, compter les moments de sa vie. The spirit of unrest is there beneath the calm exterior.
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