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"Well, this lady came down the stairs. I could see her where I sat, but she couldn't see me, it was so dark in the cell; and she called to her husband I guess he was her husband, because he looked so triste." Adela often fell into French, from being so long at the Paris school, and not from affectation in the least.
"Mam'zelle is triste," he said; "is there any thing I can do for you?" "I must go away from here, Tardif," I answered, with a choking voice. A change swept quickly across his face, but he passed his hand for a moment over it, and then regarded me again with his grave smile. "For what reason, mam'zelle?" he asked. "Oh! I must tell you every thing!" I cried.
We have made a supreme effort, but it hasn't cleared the enemy from our country. La guerre c'est triste." He, too, fights on, but that overflow of vitality does not visit him, as it comes to the youngsters of the first line.
There was a little wooden hotel in the edge of a banana grove, facing the sea, that catered to the tastes of the few foreigners that had dropped out of the world into the triste Peruvian town.
Elle redevint peu a peu silencieuse, et ses profonds soupirs ne prouverent que trop que l'oubli du triste passe n'etait qu'a la surface; ses manieres taciturnes et les manifestations d'une secrete inquietude commencaient meme a troubler mes parents, et mon pere essaya par beaucoup de bonte a la persuader d'accepter les epreuves de sa vie comme venant de Dieu.
There are no illusions left, at all, in the good city of Tours, with regard to Louis XI. His terrible castle of Plessis, the picture of which sends a shiver through the youthful reader of Scott, has been reduced to sub- urban insignificance; and the residence of his triste compere, on the front of which a festooned rope figures as a motive for decoration, is observed to have been erected in the succeeding century.
If he had desired them to laugh he would have been obeyed, and in as hearty a manner. "How triste!" said Mrs. Doria Forey to Lobourne's curate, as that most enamoured automaton went through his paces beside her with professional stiffness. "One who does not suffer can hardly assent," the curate answered, basking in her beams. "Ah, you are good!" exclaimed the lady. "Look at my Clare.
I am ready to do more, to find you a passage to Europe on the first occasion, where you may perchance escape the echoes of your infamy if God is good to you. The condition is this. We have reason to believe that you are acquainted with the hiding place of the gold of Montezuma, which was unlawfully stolen from us on the night of the noche triste.
"It is a great pity," responded Philip, obeying her command, and seating himself in a large arm-chair near her. "Do you really mean it?" was her reply. "Yes, I believe you do! You were evidently born to be a monk. Oh, how triste it must be to be made without an appreciation of us!" He remained silent, his face more grave than ever.
"My sisters are always so vehement in their praises of anything they like, that nobody else has a chance to know whether he likes it or not. I generally incline to the not." I added no remark upon Mr. De Saussure's or his sisters' peculiar way of enjoying themselves. "But you are uncommonly silent," he went on presently; "triste, rêveuse.
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