United States or Ghana ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The viscount, now promoted to be procureur-general, would occasionally blame her for certain unintelligent acts of charity by which, as he knew from his secret police-reports, she had given encouragement to criminal schemes. "If you ever want money for any of your paupers, let me be a sharer in your good deeds," said old Grossetete, taking Veronique's hand.
Meanwhile, Rose took us aside and told us that Gaspard, Veronique's betrothed, had come to arrange the day for the wedding. She had invited him to remain for dinner. Gaspard, the oldest son of a farmer of Moranges, was a big boy of twenty years, known throughout the country for his prodigious strength. During a festival at Toulouse he had vanquished Martial, the "Lion of the Midi."
The child Francis received, therefore, six thousand francs a year, and his mother forty thousand. Veronique's fortune was still the largest in the department. When these affairs were all settled, Madame Graslin announced her intention of leaving Limoges and taking up her residence at Montegnac, to be near Monsieur Bonnet.
I saw directly that M. de Grimaldi had nothing to do with it, and I felt sure that he would laugh when I told him the story. Annette soon came back with the chocolate, and told me that her sister hoped I would answer her letter. "Yes, dear," said I, "I will answer her when I get up." I took my chocolate, put on my dressing-gown, and went to Veronique's room.
I saw directly that M. de Grimaldi had nothing to do with it, and I felt sure that he would laugh when I told him the story. Annette soon came back with the chocolate, and told me that her sister hoped I would answer her letter. "Yes, dear," said I, "I will answer her when I get up." I took my chocolate, put on my dressing-gown, and went to Veronique's room.
When Monsieur de Grandville, then a young man of twenty-five, whom she declined to take as a husband, kissed her hand with an earnest expression of regret, the new bishop noticed the strange manner in which the black pupil of Veronique's eyes suddenly spread over the blue of the iris, reducing it to a narrow circle. The eye betrayed unmistakably some violent inward emotion.
Stay, stay, dear lady, the place is all blood they are slaying them all all the Huguenots! Will no one stop her? Mademoiselle ma'm'selle! For Eustacie no sooner gathered the sense of Veronique's words than she darted suddenly forwards, and was in a few seconds more at the foot of the stairs. There, indeed, lay a pool of dark gore, and almost in it Berenger's black velvet cap, with the heron plume.
Veronique's faded eyes were all that retained even a memory of her youth. The dark blue of the iris still cast its passionate fires, to which the woman's life seemed to have retreated, deserting the cold, impassible face, and glowing with an expression of devotion when the welfare of a fellow-being was concerned.
Word Of The Day