It approached. Braintop's eyes were in waiting on Emilia, who looked sadly at the empty orchestra. A gentleman in the stalls, a head beneath her, bowed, and holding up a singular article, gravely said that he had been requested to pass it. She touched Mr. Pole's shoulder. "Eh? anything funny?" said he, and glanced around.
Pole's encouragement, he assumed a taciturn aspect worthy of a youthful anchorite, and continued to be the spectator of a scene to which his soul was dead. "I believe that fellow's thinking of nothing but his supper," said Mr. Pole. "I dare say he dined early in the day," returned Emilia, remembering how hungry she used to be in the evenings of the potatoe-days.
The sergeant winked his eyes and opined it was wiser to go by fair means than to be dragged by main force. The Pole advised the sergeant to make his will before repeating that threat. Noon saw two Cossacks and an officer thundering at the Pole's door. The door opened wide. In marched the soldiers, armed to the teeth; but before their clicking heels had ceased to mark time, the door was shut again.
How could I help it," he went on, repeating this essentially Polish excuse with a Pole's grace; "there are times when a man would borrow of the Devil. And, after all, the money belongs to the family. When once she had invited me, should I have got the money at all if I had responded to her civility with a rude refusal?" "Oh, mamma, what mischief papa is bringing on us!" cried Hortense.
The Pole's bosom heaved with manly emotion: "These pieces bear the effigies of the tyrant I accept them as redeemed from disgrace by their uses to Freedom." "Share them with Signor Raselli in the name of the same cause," whispered Rameau, with a smile he might have plagiarised from De Mauleon. The Italian, whose ear was inured to whispers, heard and turned round as he stood at the threshold.
Let us have a few last words before the boat arrives." Hardened as he was, Alan Hawke was surprised at the childlike lightness of the Pole's manner when they encountered the fresh young beauties who were already the cynosure of all eyes upon the morning boat.
"You shouldn't deduce too much from a single instance. Besides, that Pole's case hasn't cost me anything yet." Mrs. Hastings joined them, and when Wyllard strolled away the women passed some time leaning on the rails, and looking at the groups of shadowy figures on the forward deck.
"Nay," said Dave quietly, "neither you nor me can't do no poling theer. Watter's nigh upon twenty foot deep, and a soft bottom. Pole's no use theer." "What shall we do then?" "I weer thinking, lad," said Dave, following the direction taken by the bladder. "He's a makkin for yon way through the reeds into next pool." "Then let's go there and stop him, Dave," cried Dick. "Ay, lad, we will.
She was on the verge of tears; for the little Pole's persistence was breaking down the barrier that she had striven to erect against her lover's pleading. Alec had not said much in his letter; but what he did say was wholly to the point. "Come to me, Joan," he wrote. "Don't wait. Don't stop and worry about what the world will say, since it will surely be something bitter and untrue.
Morbidezza is the precise phrase; morbidezza may be found in Chopin's art, in the very feverish moments when he seems brimming over with high spirits. Watteau was not a consumptive of the Pole's type. He did not alternate between ecstasy and languor. He was cold, self-contained, suspicious, and inveterately hid the state of his health.