Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 24, 2025
Intriguers as well as downright knaves are often capable of experiencing moments of sincere and pure sentiments; in certain encounters every human being rises superior to him-or herself. The upper part of Mlle. Moriaz's face was shaded by her red hood, the lower part lit up by the moon, which was slowly rising above the hills.
Moriaz's painting, expressing his regret that business had prevented his coming sooner. Mme. de Lorcy thanked him for his kindness, with rather a cool politeness, and asked him for news of her goddaughter. He did not expatiate on this topic. "The valley of Saint Moritz is a dreary country," she next said.
He drew near it; the room into which he gazed, full of bric-a-brac of exquisite choice, was Mlle. Moriaz's study. There was in the appearance of this little sanctuary, hung with white silken drapery, and as elegant as the divinity whose favourite tarrying-place it was, something of purity, chastity, and maidenliness.
When he had crossed the lawn he stood facing two detached buildings, separated by a mass of verdure: to the right, an old summer-house, used from time immemorial for M. Moriaz's collections, laboratory, and library; to the left, a new two-story house, part stone, part brick, built in an elegant but unobtrusive style, without ornament or pretension, and flanked by a turret covered with ivy and clematis, which served for a dove-cote.
When he reached the foot of the declivity, he turned his head and saw, on the summit of the hill, through the space left by the crooked branches of two plantains, a white wall, that seemed to laugh amid the verdure, and a little higher the pointed roof of the dove-cote, where Mlle. Moriaz's doves had their nests. He did not need to look long at this roof to recognise it.
"How pale you are!" he said to her. "Are you not well? You are cold. Pray, Mlle. Moiseney, make yourself useful and prepare her a mulled egg; you know I do not permit her to be sick." It was not the mulled egg that restored Mlle. Moriaz's color. The next morning as she was giving a drawing lesson to her protegee, Count Abel was announced.
Moriaz, her arm resting on the ledge of her window, was meditating on the strange conduct of Count Larinski as she gazed on the stars; the sky was without clouds, unless a little black speck above Mount-Valerien might be so called. Mlle. Moriaz's heart swelled with emotion, and she felt implicit confidence that all would be arranged the next day.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking