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Updated: June 21, 2025
The strong perfume of the magnolia-blossoms, still white upon the boughs, is wafted upward to the open window of the marchesa's sitting-room; the sun is low, and the shadows of the pointed arches double themselves upon the ground.
"Yes; she took him in, even more than she did me." "Simple Mr. Leslie! And the same kind friend? who is related to you, did you say?" "His grandmother was a Hazeldean." "Humph. The same kind relation led you to believe that you could pay off this bond with the marchesa's portion, and that he could obtain the consent of your parents to your marriage with that lady?"
The illustrious personage so notoriously careful of his subject's morals who had deigned to interest himself in the marriage, might possibly, at the birth of a son and heir to the Guinigi, add a pension who knows? "Personally I should have declined it, personally; but the marchesa's commands were absolute: 'You must go yourself, I will permit no deputy." "Damn the marchesa!
The Marchesa's sleepy eyes opened suddenly with an expression of startled satisfaction, and she returned the pressure of the fingers with more energy than San Miniato had suspected. She was evidently very much pleased.
I am really quite ignorant of the new titles." This question was asked with outward courtesy, but there was such a twang of scorn in the marchesa's tone, such an expression of contempt upon her lip, that the old chamberlain trembled on his chair. Even at this last moment it was possible that her infernal pride might scatter every thing to the winds.
Thus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's. Now, in reality the marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lansmere's family had their source in the misguided, restless, despairing interest with which she still clung to the image of the young poet, whom Randal had no reason to suspect.
Thus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's. Now, in reality the marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lansmere's family had their source in the misguided, restless, despairing interest with which she still clung to the image of the young poet, whom Randal had no reason to suspect.
The walls were broken by doors of varnished pine-wood. These doors led, on the right, to the chapel, Enrica's bedroom, and many empty apartments; on the left, to the marchesa's suite of rooms, the offices, and the stone corridor which communicated with the now ruined tower. High up on the walls of the sala, two large and roughly-painted frescoes decorated the empty spaces.
Before many minutes more had passed, a trim young figure appeared in the path a young girl, with pink cheeks and bright dark eyes, no other than Teresina, the Marchesa's maid. She carried some sewing in her hand and looked nervously behind her and to the right and left as she walked. But there was no one in the garden at that hour.
Good heavens! can you think so poorly of me? But as to the marchesa's affections," continued Frank, with a faltering voice, "do you really and honestly believe that they are to be won by me?"
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