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'Sonnez vos trompettes, et je vais faire sonner mes cloches, or to the Von Erlachs, a family that has headed so many resistances to oppression and invasion, for five centuries?" "All this is very true," returned Sir George, "and yet I confess it is not the way in which it is usual with us to consider American society."
"Par Saint Hubert mon patron C'est quelque due de haut renom * Sonnez: écuyers et piqueux Un Murat vien en ces lieux." Chamblay fortunately being neither populous nor near a great town there is no throng of curious spectators hovering about to get in the way and scare the game and the hounds and their followers out of their wits.
This continued while with agonised eyes Esther watched the hands of the big clock on the wall creep from five minutes past seven to eleven past. Still no connection. At last the operator, remote and chill as the top of the Tour Eiffel, informed her that there was no reply. With French born of desperation Esther cried, "Sonnez encore! Sonnez toujours! Je suis sûre qu'il y a quelqu'un la!"
And a call, pure, long and throbbing. Longindying call. Decoy. Soft word. But look: the bright stars fade. O rose! Castile. The morn is breaking. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. Coin rang. Clock clacked. Avowal. Sonnez. I could. Rebound of garter. Not leave thee. Smack. La cloche! Thigh smack. Avowal. Warm. Sweetheart, goodbye! Jingle. Bloo. Boomed crashing chords. When love absorbs. War! War!
Can you blame me if I doubt you in other respects?" "Sonnez donc la trompette, Et battez les tambours!" And the warbler nodded significantly at Madame, whose frown grew still darker. "Eh! Monsieur," cried the Colonel, with a protesting hand, "you are out of tune!" "I should like to know why you returned here," said Madame. "Either you have some plan, or your audacity has no bounds."
Quavering the chords strayed from the air, found it again, lost chord, and lost and found it, faltering. Go on! Do! Sonnez! Bending, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee. Delayed. Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with wilful eyes. Sonnez! Smack. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh.
We can put the gunners and their little guns into that stable at the back, and the officer can have a room in the house itself. Sonnez, for the last time before lunch!"
"My God!" he whispered hoarsely. "You are not, you cannot be the the daughter Peter LaSalle's daughter, who disappeared strangely!" "Yes," she said quietly. "I am Marie LaSalle." LaSalle! The old French name! That old French inscription on the ring: "SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!" Yes; he began to understand now. She was Marie LaSalle! He began to remember more clearly. Marie LaSalle!
Jimmie Dale still crouched against the wall. The steps grew fainter in the distance and died finally away. Jimmie Dale straightened up, slipped the mask from his face to his pocket, stepped out on the street and five minutes later was passing through the noisy bedlam of the Hungarian restaurant on his way to the front door and his car. "SONNEZ LE TOCSIN," Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself.
The iron gate was shut, and a sign said, "Sonnez s'il vous plait!" A toothless French portière of thirty years let us in. All the doctors of Tahiti had left the island for a few days on an excursion, and the gay scientist who opened the champagne in his pockets at the Tiare Hotel New Year's eve was in command. He sat in an arm-chair in a littered office and was smoking a pipe.
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