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Once, two, three times I make him read it out he has the voice so soft and round, Maitre Damian there." "Glad and good!" interrupted Jean. "What is the news, my wife? What is the news of highnesss he?" Maitresse Aimable smiled, then she tried to speak, but her voice broke. "The son the son at last he is the Duke of Bercy. E'fin, it is all here.
I believe the correct thing is not to wear mourning, but almost all the ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain went about in black garments for some time. One of my friends put it rather graphically: "Si on a un ruban rose dans les cheveux on a tout de suite l'air d'etre la maitresse de Rochefort." All Europe was engrossed with the question of the Pope's successor.
To be sure, Maitresse Aimable came oftener; but, since that notable day at Sark, Guida had resolutely avoided reference, however oblique, to Philip and herself.
As in her mental maze she sat panting her way to enlightenment, she saw Guida's boat entering the little harbour. Now the truth must be told but how? After her first exclamation of welcome to mother and child, Maitresse Aimable struggled painfully for her voice.
At first the grave inquiry of her look startled Guida. She was beginning to know that sensitive fear assailing those tortured by a secret. How she loathed this secrecy! How guilty she now felt, where, indeed, no guilt was! She longed to call aloud her name, her new name, from the housetops. The voice of Maitresse Aimable roused her.
Dubois was won over to the unholy alliance; and the Due's maîtresse en titre was bribed, not only to withdraw all opposition to her proposed rival, but to arrange a meeting between the Regent and the victim. Success seemed to be assured. Mademoiselle Aissé was to exchange slavery to her late owner for an equally odious place in the harem of the ruler of France.
A genuine maitresse de maison in Paris has no affections, no ties, save those of her salon. She is wholly absorbed in thinking how she shall render this more attractive than the salon of some other lady, who is her intimate friend, but whose sudden disappearance from the social scene, by any catastrophe, death even, would not leave her inconsolable.
Of these things he made a little packet, which he sealed up, and wrote upon it these lines: "Je les requs avec tendresse, Je vous les rends avec douleur; C'est ainsi qu'un amant, dans sou extreme fureur, Rend le portrait de sa maitresse." He called his servant, and commanded him to take this packet to the king. Voltaire did not hesitate a moment.
Maitresse Aimable shook her great head slowly on the vast shoulders, and shut her heavy eyelids. "Dame, but I think you are sleeping now you," Jean went on. Maitresse Aimable's eyes opened wide, and again she shook her head. Jean looked a laugh at her through his great brass-rimmed spectacles and added: "Ba su, then I know. It is because we go to sleep in my hut at Plemont where She live so long.
The yacht Dorset had aboard her the Reverend Lorenzo Dow, an old friend of her commander. He was to be dropped at Sark, and was to come back with Jean Touzel in the Hardi Biaou, the matter having been arranged the evening before in the Vier Marchi. The saucy yawl had aboard Maitresse Aimable, Guida, and a lad to assist Jean in working the sails.
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