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"There's a child among the artichokes," she said. "The Plagues of Egyp'! I'll see to them!" cried the gardener truculently, and with a hurried waddle disappeared among the evergreens. That moment she turned, she came running towards me, her arms stretched out, her face incarnadined for the one moment with heavenly blushes, the next pale as death. "Monsieur de Saint-Yves!" she said.
Byfield, a word in your private ear, if you will." "As you please," said he, dropping the valve-string. We leaned together over the breastwork of the car. "If I mistake not," I said, speaking low, "the name was Champdivers." He nodded. "The gentleman who raised that foolish but infernally risky cry was my own cousin, the Viscount de Saint-Yves. I give you my word of honour to that."
But their performance, before so chilling an audience, was falling sadly flat when a dozen or more of young royalist bloods came riding up to reanimate it among them, M. Louis de Chateaubriand, M. Talleyrand's brother, Archambaut de Périgord, the scoundrelly Marquis de Maubreuil yes, and my cousin, the Vicomte de Saint-Yves!
That is Swanston Cottage, where my brother and I live with my aunt. If it really pleases you to see it, I shall be glad." When he left for Darfour, Douglas Kaine must surely have left in Edinburgh a Miss Flora, as blonde as Saint-Yves' Flora. But what are these slips of girls beside Antinea! Kaine, however sensible a mortal, however made for this kind of love, had loved otherwise. He was dead.
Miss Flora, suffer me to present to you the Vicomte Anne de Kéroual de Saint-Yves, a private soldier." "I knew it!" cried the boy; "I knew he was a noble!" And I thought the eyes of Miss Flora said the same, but more persuasively. All through this interview she kept them on the ground, or only gave them to me for a moment at a time, and with a serious sweetness.
Take back your pistol, which smells very ill; put it in your pocket or wherever you had it concealed. There! Now let us meet for the first time. Give you good morning, Mr. Fenn! I hope you do very well. I come on the recommendation of my kinsman, the Vicomte de Saint-Yves." "Do you mean it?" he cried. "Do you mean you will pass over our little scrimmage?"
"And there is nothing to be done!" she wailed in conclusion. "My error is irretrievable, I am quite forced to that conclusion. O, Monsieur de Saint-Yves! who would have thought that I could have been such a blind, wicked donkey!" I should have said before only that I really do not know when it came in that we had been overtaken by the two post-boys, Rowley and Mr.
"Lately arrived" this is what I suddenly stumbled on "at Dumbreck's Hotel, the Viscount of Saint-Yves." "Rowley," said I. "If you please, Mr. Anne, sir," answered the obsequious, lowering his pipe. "Come and look at this, my boy," said I, holding out the paper. "My crikey!" said he. "That's 'im, sir, sure enough!" "Sure enough, Rowley," said I. "He's on the trail. He has fairly caught up with us.
"French prisoners are very well in their place," she said, "but I cannot see that their place is in my private dining-room." At this, to my relief, I thought I could perceive a vestige of a smile to steal upon that iron countenance and to be bitten immediately in. "And if it is a fair question, what do they call ye?" she asked. "At your service, the Vicomte Anne de Saint-Yves," said I.
At this altitude one shank was more than we had a right to expect: the plural multiplies the obligation." Keeping a tight hold on his hysteria, Dalmahoy steadied himself by a rope and bowed. "And I, sir," as Mr. Sheepshanks' thoroughly bewildered gaze travelled around and met mine "I, sir, am the Vicomte Anne de Kéroual de Saint-Yves, at your service.
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