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Over the mantel the portrait of a woman stood out clearly and definitely. It represented Madame la Marquise at twenty-two, when Marie de Médicis had commanded the young Rubens to paint the portrait of one of the few women who had volunteered to share her exile. Madame lived to be only twenty-four, happily. "Jehan, light the chandelier," said the marquis.
So my mantel pieces remained bare as at first, notwithstanding the desire for something to put on them still remained active. One afternoon, as I sat at work renovating an old garment, with the hope of making it look almost "as good as new," my cook entered and said "There's a man down stairs, Mrs.
Their mother told them that the butterfly was sometimes considered a type of immortality. In this world we are, like the worm, in an inferior state of existence. Our bodies are laid in the grave, but we are not dead, any more than the unmoving chrysalis which remained so long on the mantel just where it was placed was dead.
But Hugh was in earnest, and his mother brought the watch from the nail over the mantel, where, all through his sickness it had ticked away the weary hours, just as it ticked the night its first owner died, with only Hugh sitting near, and listening as it told the fleeting moments. "If I could only ask Alice what it was worth," she thought and why couldn't she?
"But I will be merciful," goes on Helen. "You shall live that will be your punishment. I will show you how easily I could have sent you to the death that you deserve. There is her picture on the mantel. I will send through her more beautiful face the bullet that should have pierced your craven heart." And she does it. And there's no fake blank cartridges or assistants pulling strings. Helen fires.
He looked very tall and strong as he stood before the mantel, receiving the congratulations of Mrs. Brewster-Smith and the timid admiration of Cousin Emelene. His few words were well chosen and were uttered with dignity. "And now, dear Mr. Remington, I'm sure I don't need to ask you if you are taking the right stand on suffrage." This from Mrs. Brewster-Smith. The candidate smiled tolerantly.
Women who scarcely know, even by hearsay, of such wretched castaways as I." She walked from the window to the fire, and, leaning against the mantel, fixed her eyes on the flickering flame. "My birthday," she said to herself, "this long, lonesome, desolate day. Desolate as my lost life, as my dead heart. Only two-and twenty, and all that makes life worth having, gone already."
There was a soft-coal fire in the small, old-fashioned grate under the old, old-fashioned white marble mantel. Dozing always dozing on the hearth-rug, at a comfortable distance from the fire, was Herod, the big yellow cat. In the centre of the room, under the chandelier, was a table, with a cover of her mother's fancy working, and a drop-light with a green shade.
Two students from the university had aided in beguiling the early part of the evening, and then Laura had commenced reading aloud an interesting tale, which had suspended the consciousness of time. But as the marble clock on the mantel chimed out the hour of twelve, Mrs. Arnot rose hastily from the sofa, exclaiming: "What am I thinking of, to keep you up so late!
She knew that he was enjoying his own impudence, and he was so handsome that she could not refuse to enjoy it with him. She asked him if he would not have a fan, and he allowed her to get it for him from the mantel. "Will you have some tea?" "No; but a glass of water, if you please," he said, and Bessie rang and sent for some apollinaris, which Jeff drank a great goblet of when it came.
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