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Updated: July 28, 2025
But the actress who sang and danced in the principal part ... Miss Lavigne ..." She had loosened her mantle; now she let it drop upon the Eastern carpet, emerging from its blackness as a slender, supple, upright shape in clinging, creamy-white draperies; her exquisite arms bare to the shoulder, and clasped midway by heavy, twisted bracelets of barbaric gold, her nymph-like bosom swelling from the folded draperies of the low-cut bodice like a twin-budded narcissus flowering from the pale calyx, her sweet throat clasped about with Saxham's gift of pearls.
And the editor of the Keyhole, a certain weekly journal of caterings for the curious, will gladly publish any little anecdote which will serve the dual purpose of amusing his readers and keeping the name of Miss Lessie Lavigne before the public eye. "How did you enjoy the performance of the lady who played the part?" Lynette ponders, and her fine brows knit.
But get on a little quicker," says Saxham grimly, jerking his head towards the door. "For I am wanted. And don't speak loud, for there are people on the other side there. With regard to this woman actress, or whatever she may be ?" "With all her moral laxities," goes on Julius, "Miss Lessie Lavigne " "Ah, I know the name," says Saxham sharply. "On with you to the end.
She told the story of how she had alarmed them by firing the revolver, and had shut them up in the cellar. The man, still serious, asked: "But what am I to do with them at this time of night?" "Go and fetch Monsieur Lavigne with his men," she replied. "He'll take them prisoners. He'll be delighted." Her father smiled. "So he will-delighted." "Here's some soup for you," said his daughter.
For the Doctor would see in it only confirmation for his own narrow sense-bound theories, while to the Professor it confirmed beyond a doubt the absolute truth of this story. It came to the lonely cottage of Madame Lavigne on the edge of the moor that surrounds the sunken village of Aven-a-Christ.
All-bakers, grocers, butchers, lawyers, carpenters, booksellers, chemists-took their turn at military training at regular hours of the day, under the auspices of Monsieur Lavigne, a former noncommissioned officer in the dragoons, now a draper, having married the daughter and inherited the business of Monsieur Ravaudan, Senior.
The next year Malvina was no longer there. Madame Lavigne, folding knotted hands, had muttered her last paternoster. Pere Jean had urged the convent. But for the first time, with him, she had been frankly obstinate. Some fancy seemed to have got into the child's head.
They wondered 'why the Lavigne did not star on the programme as a Viscountess? but, of course, they said, 'the Foltlebarres would never stand that!
Then, about eight o'clock in the morning, a voice came from the vent-hole "I want to speak to the French officer." Lavigne replied from the window, taking care not to put his head out too far: "Do you surrender?" "I surrender." "Then put your rifles outside." A rifle immediately protruded from the hole, and fell into the snow, then another and another, until all were disposed of.
"I've heerd that word a thousan' times; right way seems like 'M'shoo. Shucks! Can't get my tongue 'round it, nohow." "Yes, I know", said Pa "you go call Frenchy." Joe Lavigne, summoned from the barn, came, followed by all the rest, curious to see what was wanted a rough, kindly gang of men in blue overalls and big, clumping boots. "Joe," said Pa; "you say 'Mister' in French."
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