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"I am sorry I was rude," she said slowly. "I will kiss you now." "You are a darling!" But for all that Madame Lepelletier longed to shake her. Her father received her with open arms and rapturous caresses. She gave a little sob. "You won't ask me again!" she cried. "I don't want anybody but just you, now that Auntie Dora is away." "And I want you to love me best of all.
The Lepelletier divan was the place of meeting of a large number of Republican journalists. Delahodde knew them all. A detachment of the Republican Guard occupied the entrances to the café. Then ensued an inspection of all the ordinary customers, Delahodde walking first, with the Commissary behind him. Two Municipal Guards followed them.
He has announced the visitors to her, and she dreads, yet is most anxious to see Madame Lepelletier. "Was not this room hers when she was here in the summer?" asks Violet, standing by the window. "Yes," answers her husband, but he makes no further comment. It looks like crowding Violet out, and he is not sure he wants that.
Gertrude is serene, but softened in some strange way, and yet curiously dignified. Madame Lepelletier is surprised. She considers any marriage a short-sighted step for such a man, and she can only think of Gertrude as a fretful, despondent woman, who will end by being a dead weight upon her husband. Whatever gave him the fancy? for Gertrude was too indolent to set about winning any man.
Laura made herself very much at home with her Parisian acquaintance; and in the grand house in the Rue Lepelletier many a glass was turned full upon the beautiful English bride with the chevelure dore and the violet blue eyes. One morning Laura told her husband, with a gay laugh, that she was going to victimize him; but he was to promise to be patient and bear with her for once in a way.
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But when he sees Floyd Grandon floating up and down with that lovely fairy-like figure in his arms, he hates him more bitterly than before. Irene Lepelletier and Jasper Wilmarth could well join hands here. The gulf between them is not so very wide. Marcia is up in the next waltz as well, but this time with an old admirer.
You've been to me like a little angel. See here, you are worth ten of Madame Lepelletier, with all her beauty. Why didn't Floyd marry her? She has about as much real soul as he." "Oh, don't!" she cries, in the depths of her anguish. "You wrong him. You can never know how gentle and kind he was when papa died, and how good he has always been to me.
She is regal to-night, that goes without saying. Her velvet is a pale lavender, that in certain lights looks almost frost white, and it fits her perfect figure admirably. Laura has been disappointed in the wish of her soul, her grand stroke. "Floyd," she said, when he came down, looking the faultless gentleman, "you must open the dancing with Madame Lepelletier.
Oh, do you realize that you are a perfect godsend?" and she kisses her enthusiastically. "Yes," says Madame Lepelletier, so softly and sweetly that it is like a breath of musical accord. "I will settle myself in the city and you must come to me " "In the city!" interrupts Laura, with both dismay and incredulity in her tone.
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