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The Fontainebleau factory strung its looms and copied its cartoons and produced, too, certain hangings for Henri's wife, the terrible Catherine de Medici, on which her vicious eyes rested in forming her horrid plots; but Henri had ambitions of his own, small ambitions beside those which had to do with jealousy of Charles Quint.
My candle, under a bold flourish, went out, and I perceived, by the uncovered window, that the yielding dusk of earliest morning rendered it unnecessary. Without it, the next instant, I saw that there was someone on the stair. I speak of sequences, but I required no lapse of seconds to stiffen myself for a third encounter with Quint.
"I daresay I was wrong. But, really, I was afraid." "Afraid of what?" "Of things that man could do. Quint was so clever he was so deep." I took this in still more than, probably, I showed. "You weren't afraid of anything else? Not of his effect ?" "His effect?" she repeated with a face of anguish and waiting while I faltered. "On innocent little precious lives. They were in your charge."
What she had said to him, since I pressed, was that SHE liked to see young gentlemen not forget their station. I pressed again, of course, at this. "You reminded him that Quint was only a base menial?" "As you might say! And it was his answer, for one thing, that was bad." "And for another thing?" I waited. "He repeated your words to Quint?" "No, not that.
Paratus With a dat. of the thing, for which there is a preparation, is peculiar to poetry and post-Augustan prose. Cf. Freund ad v. Ad rem. cf. Cic. Epist. ad Quint. 1, 1, 6: tam corruptrice provincia, sc. Asia; and pro Mur. 9. Quantalibet facilitate. Redempturus esset. Subj. in the apodosis answering to a protasis understood, sc. if A. would have entered into the plot. Cf.
I was so determined to have all my proof that I flashed into ice to challenge him. "Whom do you mean by 'he'?" "Peter Quint you devil!" His face gave again, round the room, its convulsed supplication. They are in my ears still, his supreme surrender of the name and his tribute to my devotion. "What does he matter now, my own? what will he EVER matter?
He was charming, graceful, and wore a perpetual smile; of middle height, with studied movements, he was ideal in Musset, perfect in Emile Augier, charming in Moliere, but execrable in Victor Hugo. Bressant, who took the part of Charles Quint, was shockingly bad. His amiable and flabby style and his weak and wandering eyes effectively prevented all grandeur.
Should he stick by the farthing; or should he call it a fifthing, a quint, or a semitenth? "There's the 'Fortnightly Review' comes out but once a month," he said to his friend Mr. Bonteen, "and I'm told that it does very well." Mr. Bonteen, who was a rational man, thought the "Review" would do better if it were called by a more rational name, and was very much in favour of "a quint." Mr.
In September, 1866, a convention of returned soldiers and sailors representing nearly all the northern States was held at Pittsburg, Penn. Among those present from Massachusetts were Gen. Charles Devens, Gen. N. P. Banks, Major A. S. Cushman, and Chaplain A. H. Quint.
The appearance was full upon us that I had already had to deal with here: Peter Quint had come into view like a sentinel before a prison. The next thing I saw was that, from outside, he had reached the window, and then I knew that, close to the glass and glaring in through it, he offered once more to the room his white face of damnation.
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