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Could such actions bring into being the respect of others, the respect of any man? Had Emile respected her for rushing to Africa? Or had he, perhaps, then and through all these years, simply wondered how she could have done such a thing? And Maurice Maurice? Oh, what had he thought? How had he looked upon that action?
<b>COMAN, CHARLOTTE B.</b> Bronze medal, California Mid-Winter Exposition, 1894. Member of New York Water-Color Club. Born in Waterville, N. Y. Pupil of J. R. Brevoort in America, of Harry Thompson and Émile Vernier in Paris. This artist has painted landscapes, and sent to the Philadelphia Exposition in 1876 "A French Village"; to the Paris Exposition, 1878, "Near Fontainebleau."
"You've never asked me before. One doesn't know everything about a person at once." Again Emile agreed. Then he said abruptly, "Well, if you have all these ideas you'd better join the Cause." "I'd love to! Shall I have to go to meetings with Sobrenski and all the rest of them?" "Probably. But you'll not be expected to talk. You may be told to do some writing or carry messages." "Is that all?"
"Mais, où suis je?" she murmured, painfully dragging out the words. Then followed Emile's name. The doctor laid her back gently, and stood holding one of her wrists. "She thinks it's you, Poleski! 'Tis diphtheria. A bad case, too. Shall want some looking afther. Who's seeing to her?" "I am," responded Emile, coolly. "The divil ye are!" The Irishman's long upper lip twitched humorously.
Emile had told her that she must get her sleep up in the hut. "You have two hours to yourself," he said. "You can't sleep up there? Nonsense! Make up your mind to do it and then you will." The building in question, which was more like an outhouse than anything else, she had christened, "The Black Hole of Calcutta."
The former is a kind of romance, owing its interest mainly to development of character, and not to incident or plot. Emile embodies a system of education in which the author's thoughts are digested and arranged. He gives himself an imaginary pupil, the representative of that life of spontaneous development which was the writer's ideal.
"And have you promised it too?" inquires he. "Of course; the money that comes into my hands is mine to use only upon this condition, which its owner has to carry out." After this conversation, and we have seen how a child may be prepared to understand it, other children besides Émile would be tempted to imitate me by acting like a rich man.
It seemed to her at that moment that she had lost Vere in the dark, that she had lost Emile in the dark, that even Gaspare was drifting from her in a mist of secrecy which he did not intend that she should penetrate. There was only Ruffo left. He had no secrets. He threw no darkness round him and those who loved him. In his happy, innocent song was his happy, innocent soul.
Suppose we are studying the course of the sun and the way to find our bearings, when all at once Emile interrupts me with the question, "What is the use of that?" what a fine lecture I might give, how many things I might take occasion to teach him in reply to his question, especially if there is any one there.
Rousseau entertained the princely guests at Montmorency with "La Nouvelle Heloise" and "Emile," and though never quite at ease, his democratic theories did not prevent him from feeling greatly honored by their friendly courtesies; indeed, he loses his usual bitterness when speaking of this noble patroness.
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