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A short interval had elapsed, after it was supposed that everybody had come from below, when a tall, thin personage, in the dress of a landsman, crawled up the hatchway. "Halloo!" cried Jerry; "Mr Longtogs, who have we here? Why, he must be the padre. I say, mounseer, je very much suspect, que vous etes what they call a Father Confessor, n'est-ce pas? Devilish good idea. A privateer with a parson!
What can trouble you?" "Nothing, if you do not," I answered, smiling. "Lord send we don't admire the same lady, then," said Nick. "Pierrot," he cried, turning to one of the boatmen, "il y a des belles demoiselles la, n'est-ce pas?" The man missed a stroke in his astonishment, and the boat swung lengthwise in the swift current. "Dame, Monsieur, il y en a," he answered.
You will be comfortable here. N'est-ce pas, Polly?" Pierre gesticulated as he explained volubly. He even illustrated the comfort by lying down in the travois himself and giving a dramatic representation of sleep. The young man grumbled, but gave way reluctantly. "How's Billie Prince?" he asked presently from the cot where he lay. "He will hafe a fever, but soon he will be well again.
I think of trying both, as the seasons don't clash. The season, you know, Mr Larynx the season, Miss O'Carroll the season is every thing. And health is something. N'est-ce pas, Mr Larynx? Most assuredly, Miss O'Carroll.
"Ces dames are not accustomed to such heights a ces hauteurs peut-etre?" The ladies in truth were not, unhappily, always so well lodged; from this height at least one could hope to see a city. "Ah! ha! c'est gai par ici, n'est-ce pas? One has the sun all to one's self, and air! Ah! for freshness one must climb to an attic in these days, it appears."
I am sure I often wish intensely for liberty to spend a whole month in the country at some little farm-house, bien gentille, bien propre, tout entouree de champs et de bois; quelle vie charmante que la vie champetre! N'est-ce pas, monsieur?" "Cela depend, mademoiselle." "Que le vent est bon et frais!" continued the directress; and she was right there, for it was a south wind, soft and sweet.
Philip nodded, not knowing at all what she meant, but vaguely suspecting, and anxious she should not think him too ignorant. "But I didn't care. Je suis libre, n'est-ce pas?" She was very fond of speaking French, which indeed she spoke well. "Once I had such a curious adventure there." She paused a little and Philip pressed her to tell it. "You wouldn't tell me yours in Heidelberg," she said.
"My real name is Jim Clanton," answered the boy. "I've been passin' by that of 'Thursday' so that none of the Roush outfit would know I was in the country till I met up face to face with 'em." "Clanton! It is a name we shall remember in our prayers, n'est-ce pas, Polly?" Pierre choked up and wrung fervently the hand of the youngster. Clanton was both embarrassed and wary.
If you are married in Cant-er-bury Cath-edral you can be divorced, n'est-ce pas? Oui! Eh bien! If you are married in my church of Sark you can never be divorced. C'est ça! It is the old Norman law." "We will be married in your church of Sark," said Graeme, with conviction. "That is right. I shall marry you so that you shall never be able to get away from one another."
"You broke something, I see," His Highness remarked jovially, as if nothing had ever happened to him. "It was you who broke it," said I, before either of our men could speak. "But I mean something in your motor," he explained. "Yes, its heart! The long agony of towing you up those miles of mountain was too much for it. But motors' hearts can be mended." "So can young ladies', n'est-ce pas?
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