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Updated: May 7, 2025
I would not like that word to be spoken in the presence of any one who knew your history and realised the rather amazing likeness between Sir Everard Dominey and Baron Leopold Von Ragastein." "I see," Stephanie murmured, a faint smile parting her lips. "Well, Mr. Seaman, I do not think that you need have many fears. What I shall carry away with me in my heart is not for you or any man to know.
The gradual reviving of her physical strength helped her at least to simulate some of her ancient pride that he had trampled so ruthlessly underfoot. "What do you mean by that?" she questioned calmly. He met her look fully and sternly. "I mean, Mademoiselle Stephanie, precisely what I have said no more, no less!" In spite of her utmost effort, she flinched a little.
"Stephanie! Stephanie! thou hearest me, thou seest me!" But she listened to that cry as to a noise, the soughing of the wind in the tree-tops, or the lowing of the cow on the back of which she climbed. Then the colonel would wring his hands in despair, despair that was new each day.
Gurney, pale and pleasant, was very well dressed indeed. He wore a pin which Cowperwood knew had once belonged to Stephanie. She was in no way confused. Finally Stephanie let it out that Lane Cross, who had gone to New Hampshire for the summer, had left his studio in her charge. Cowperwood decided to have this studio watched.
So they chatted until dinner was announced; then the countess lay down on the sofa, and Stephanie came in and sat on a low stool beside her, while her father and Julian went to the dining-room. After the meal was over the count proposed that Julian should accompany him on a visit to the Nobles' Club.
"I feel as though a blight had settled upon my house party," Dominey remarked with bland irrelevancy. "First Eddy, then Mr. Ludwig Miller, and now Stephanie." "And who on earth was Mr. Ludwig Miller, after all?" Caroline enquired. "He was a fat, flaxen-haired German who brought me messages from old friends in Africa.
"He is as cold as marble, as particular as an old bachelor, as communicative as a sentinel; and he's one of those men who say yes to everything, but who never do anything but what they want to." "Deny him, once." "I've tried it." "What came of it?" "He threatened to reduce my allowance, and to keep back a sum big enough for him to get along without me." "Poor Stephanie!
On climbing the Schlossberg, an eminence near the city, we met the grand duchess Stephanie, a natural daughter of Napoleon, as I have heard. A chapel on the Schönberg, the mountain opposite, was pointed out as the spot where Louis XV. if I mistake not usually stood while his army besieged Freiburg.
In April, the young Queen of Portugal, Princess Stephanie of Hohenzollern, visited England with her father on her way to her husband to whom she had been married by proxy and her future home. Her charm and sweetness greatly attracted the Queen and the Prince.
The night was starless, the sea black as ink. Stephanie stood alone in the darkness of her balcony, and listened to the silence. Seven days had elapsed since her interview with Pierre Dumaresq seven days of horrible, nerve-racking suspense, of anguished foreboding, of ever-creeping, leaden-footed despair. And now at last, though the suspense still held her, she knew that the end had come.
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