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Updated: June 19, 2025
What adorable little garments she bought for Susette, those autumn days. And at night, bending over her cradle, Ethel would whisper to her, "Oh, I'm dreaming, dreaming, dear!" And to Susette this was a huge joke, and they would laugh at it like mad. "Oh, my precious loved one! What a fine, happy life we'll lead!" They were married early in December.
I took pains to observe Mademoiselle Susette, a beautiful girl still in her teens, but noways comparable as it seemed to me, in expression and vivacity to her famous sister. She was walking beside the King, her hands full of flowers, and her face flushed with shy excitement.
"If Monsieur or Mademoiselle Delora should address you," he said, "you need have no fear. They are not of the same order as Bartot and Susette." "I will remember," I answered, waving my farewells. I regained my compartment, which I was annoyed to find had filled up till mine was the only vacant seat.
Look, Susette can hardly keep up, and her braids have tumbled." "Did I look like that?" asked Jeanne with sudden disapprobation in her tone. "Oh, no, no! You were like like the fairies and wood things old Mère Michaud tells of. Your hair just floated around like a cloud full of twilight " "No, the black ones when the thunderstorm is coming on," she returned mischievously.
But she felt a rush of pity now for the woman who was left behind, cut off so completely by the birth of this small son. The nurse was bringing him into the room, and Ethel smiled at her and said: "Ask Susette if she doesn't want to come, too." It was only a day or two later that her husband broke his news.
Susette begged leave to arrange her hair, Jeannette hunted out silk stockings and slippers to match the frock, and Rosalie contributed the long white gloves which completed the costuming.
Whilst she was saying this, the latch of the door was raised, and a sturdy young peasant made his appearance; but seeing an unexpected company, drew back in some confusion. Mr. Younge cast a significant look at the ladies and Susette, whose looks explained that they were not without foundation. Such are the morals, or rather the manners, of the lower order of French wives.
The only time I had ever been far enough away from Avonlea in my life was when I was eighteen and had gone to visit an aunt in New Brunswick. "In Blakely, New Brunswick," I said, almost believing that I had when I saw how they all took it in unsuspectingly. "I was just eighteen and he was twenty-three." "What did he look like?" Susette wanted to know. "Oh, he was very handsome."
But soon she would grow repentant. Her manner, from cool friendliness, would change in a few moments; and her eyes would grow absorbed, attentive, now to Joe and now to herself, grave, wistful, sad, and then suddenly gay though they only talked of little things, of Susette, the beach, the city, the coming winter, household plans, his work, half spoken aspirations.
Nothing could persuade Susette to sit in the presence of our ladies; but she was talkative in the extreme, and seemed to be much attached to Mrs. Younge, playing as it were with her hair as she waited behind her chair. To Mr.
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