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A note lay upon the dining-room table. Hambledon was away in Cardiff, and he had left word in case I should return unexpectedly. The place was cold and fireless, and I was glad to go over to the Claredon to have my dinner. My one thought was of Gabrielle Tennison, who lived with her mother in a maisonette at Earl's Court.
I found the colonel standing in the square at Villequier Aumont, watching the departure by car of the three American ladies who for a month past had dispensed tea and cakes in the gaily-painted maisonette at the top of the village.
On July 10, 1916, the French succeeded in reaching La Maisonette, the highest point in that part of the country, and held a front from there to Barleux a position beyond the third German line. In this sector nothing now confronted Fayolle but the line of the upper Somme, south of the river.
He had persuaded Madame to give up the old-fashioned house in Regent's Park, and they had moved into a maisonette in Mayfair a little white-fronted house, with boxes full of scarlet geraniums, a second man-servant to open the door, and an electric brougham in place of the somewhat antiquated carriage, which the Countess had brought with her from abroad.
The bright and intelligent sub-editor, according to the custom now in vogue, had provided me with a short synopsis of those first six chapters, so that without the trouble of reading them I knew what they were all about. "The first instalment," I learned, "introduces the reader to a brilliant and distinguished company, assembled in the drawing-room of Lady Mary's maisonette in Park Street.
Thus in the first four days of July, 1916, the French forces operating south of the Somme constantly marched with the left in advance. After a pause for rest and to consolidate positions won, the attack was again resumed by the left wing on the 9th, and carried before Péronne, Biaches, and La Maisonette.
She lives with her mother in a maisonette in Longridge Road, Earl's Court, I forget the number, but you could easily find out." "And she is there now, I presume?" "I expect so if what Mr. De Gex has told me is the truth." "But will he ever tell you the truth?" I queried. "Recollect that although he poses as your husband's friend, he is nevertheless your enemy because he fears you! Why is that?"
It was a long distance from Balzac's idealism to the realism of Moisson, which awakened in me memories of the stories and melodramas of Ducray-Duminil, of Guilbert de Pixérecourt "Alexis, ou la Maisonette dans les Bois," "Victor, ou l'Enfant de la Forêt," and many others of the same date and style so much discredited nowadays.
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