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Updated: June 15, 2025
She lifted her finger warningly as a bell rang, and the well-known voice sounded outside the house, calling to some one to open the door. "He is here!" cried Hyacinth, distractedly. "For God's sake, hide me from him! Not for worlds not for worlds would I meet him!" "Nay, you have nothing to fear. It is Monsieur de Malfort who has to answer for what he has done." "Henri, he will kill you!
He must be vastly fond of oranges. I should love to sell oranges in the pit, if I could be an actress afterwards. I would rather be an actress than a duchess. Mademoiselle taught me Chimene's tirades in Corneille's Cid. I learn quicker than any pupil she ever had. Monsieur de Malfort once said I was a born actress," pursued Papillon, as they walked to the house. Philaster!
Dorothy suggested that there had been enough of childish play, and that it would be pleasanter to sit in the saloon with her ladyship, and hear Monsieur de Malfort sing. "I'll wager he was singing when you saw him just now." "Yes, he is always singing foolish French songs and I'm sure you can't understand 'em." "I've learnt the French ever since I was as old as you, Mistress Henriette."
They had lived in camps and in courts together, these two, and had much in common, and much that was antagonistic, in temperament and habits, Malfort being lazy and luxurious, when no fighting was on hand; a man whose one business, when not under canvas, was to surpass everybody else in the fashion and folly of the hour, to be quite the finest gentleman in whatever company he found himself.
Lady Sarah paled under her rouge at that image of a tomb, as Fareham's falcon eye singled her out in the light-hearted group of which De Malfort was the central figure, sitting on the marble balustrade, in an easy impertinent attitude, swinging his legs, and dandling his guitar.
It is all as dull as ditch-water now Monsieur de Malfort is gone. He was always pleasant, and he let me play on his guitar, though he swore it excruciated him. And he taught me the new Versailles coranto. There's no pleasure for any one since he fell ill and left England." "You shall come to the Manor. It will be a change, even though you hate the country and love London."
Is any one hurt? I'll wager a thousand pounds you devils have been fighting." "De Malfort is stabbed!" Masaroon answered. "Not dead?" she shrieked, leaning farther out of the window. "No; but it looks dangerous." "Bring him into my house this instant! I'll send my fellows to help. Have you sent for a surgeon?" "The surgeon is here."
For once in her life Hyacinth had a secret air, and checked herself suddenly in the midst of her light babble at a look from De Malfort, who had urged her to keep her sister out of their midnight party.
Oh, sister, you must know him better than I do; and yet I, who am nothing to him, am wretched when I see him ill-used. Indeed, Hyacinth, you are acting like a wicked wife. You should never have wished to see De Malfort again, after the peril of that night. You should have known that he had no esteem for you, that he was a traitor that his design was the wickedest, cruellest "
"A Frenchman?" "Yes, child. One only accepts British workmanship when a Parisian artist is not to be had. Clever as Lewin is, if I want to eclipse my dearest enemy on any special occasion I send Manningtree across the Channel, or ask De Malfort to let his valet who spends his life in transit like a king's messenger bring me the latest confection from the Rue de Richelieu."
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