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But I'm a believer in Fortune, notwithstanding the scurvy tricks she has often served me even now that she is frowning upon me black as ever. Neither of us appears to be in favour with her, and that will make our chances equal. So then, I say, let us try her again. Sacre! it will be the last time she can frown on one of us, that's certain."
They went out like French matches, sputtering before they died. In all parts of Paris there were thousands of people watching the apparition in the sky. On the heights of the Sacre Coeur inhabitants of Montmartre gathered and thrilled to the flashing of the searchlights and the bursting of shrapnel. The bugle-calls bidding everybody stay indoors had brought Paris out of bed and out of doors.
When a man loves a woman with the true love, he will try to do good for her sake. Go back to that crazy New York it is the place for you. Ma'm'selle Christine is not for you." "Who is she for, m'sieu' le dev'?" "Perhaps for the English Irishman," answered Shangois, in a low suggestive tone, as he dropped a little brandy in his tea with light fingers. "Ah, sacre! we shall see.
And in his two major works, "Petruchka" and "Le Sacre du printemps," Strawinsky makes the machine represent his own person. For the actions of machinery woke first in the human organism, and Strawinsky intensifies consciousness of the body by referring these motions to their origin. "Petruchka" is the man-machine seen from without, seen unsympathetically, in its comic aspect.
His patience had been rather put to the test by the cavalry, but the Artillery quite upset him, and on getting entangled amongst their train, uttering two of the French words he had learnt from his servitude under the Emperor, viz., "sacré bleu," he popped his pipe into his pocket, threw the reins into my hands, and jumped down to request the Officer's permission to pass.
But now, only two remain from which to choose. Sacre! there are times when those dogs break away even from my control, and mock me. I know not now whether one alone will glut their desire, yet I am of a mind to try the experiment before the wolves drag me to hell also. Heard you ever such yelping of wild beasts?" "You would sacrifice me?" his face whitening from horror.
Sobrenski had said little to anyone else of his suspicions. No need to declare anyone a traitor till it was proven. Such things had a demoralising effect, and treachery was an infectious disease. He descended the uneven rungs of the ladder, treading soft-footed as a cat. There was no noise of talking, so of course she was asleep. Sacré, these lazy women!
The French-Canadian still stared at the ruins. "Eet is all Ba'teese' fault " "I thought you were my friend, Ba'tiste." "Sacre! I am." "Then show it! We'll not be able to make a case against the firebugs even though you and I may be fairly sure who did it. Anyway, it isn't going to break us. I've got about fifteen thousand in the bank.
“Sacré imbécile,” muttered Grégoire, between his teeth, and vouchsafed him no other answer, but nodded to Morico and turned away. Fanny followed with a freedom of movement quite unlike that of her coming. Morico went into the house and coming back hastily to the door called to Joçint: “Bring back that flask of whisky that you took off the table.” “You’re a liar: you know I have no use for whisky.
"Sacre bleu!" he roared; "you are in love with this conqueror of women this soldier aristocrat!" The only answer to this unbearable insult was a louder tumult of laughter; a crash, a splash, and a volley of oaths from Barbe-Grise.
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