Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 21, 2025
"Yes! so did I," she said with a sigh, "Pretty women," she added meditatively, "ought to have a good time in England, since all the pleasant things are forbidden them the very things they do every day." "Quite so!" "You'll hardly believe it, my little Chauvelin," she said earnestly, "but I often pass a whole day a whole day without encountering a single temptation."
He has given the government of France a great deal of trouble through his attempts mostly successful, as I have already admitted, at frustrating the just vengeance which an oppressed country has the right to wreak on those who have proved themselves to be tyrants and traitors." "Is it necessary to recapitulate all this, Monsieur Chauvelin?" she asked impatiently. "I think so," he replied blandly.
"Ah, Monsieur Chauvelin," added Marguerite, looking almost with defiance across at the placid, sphinx-like face of the Frenchman, "His Royal Highness should add that we ladies think of him as of a hero of old . . . we worship him . . . we wear his badge . . . we tremble for him when he is in danger, and exult with him in the hour of his victory."
Heron growled out a few words of incredulity. But Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and looked with unutterable contempt on his colleague. Armand, who was watching him closely, saw that in his hand he held a small piece of paper, which he had crushed into a shapeless mass. "Do not waste your time, citizen," he said, "in raging against an empty wind-bag.
At his elbow just behind him stood Chauvelin on the one side and Collot d'Herbois on the other, both watching with fixed and burning eyes the writing of that letter. Sir Percy seemed in no hurry. He wrote slowly and deliberately, carefully copying the draft of the letter which was propped up in front of him.
"I am listening, Monsieur," she said calmly. "As I have already had the honour of explaining, this little document is in the form of a letter addressed personally to me and of course in French," he said finally, and then he looked down on the paper and began to read: Citizen Chauvelin
There was the wife Marguerite Blakeney sister of St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very close affection for her brother might prove an additional trump card in that handful which Chauvelin already held. Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other's hesitation. He did not even look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards him, and made ready to write.
"The good God knows!" said the old man, with his usual simple philosophy, "and perhaps it is all for the best." The room which Chauvelin had now destined for Marguerite was one which gave from the larger one, wherein last night he had had his momentous interview with her and with Sir Percy.
She sat, therefore, quite still with the flickering and yellow light fully illumining her delicate face, with its child-like curves, and delicate features, the noble, straight brow, the great blue eyes and halo of golden hair. "My desire to see you here to-night, must seem strange to you, Lady Blakeney," said Chauvelin at last.
I might be sea-sick crossing over the Channel, and glad to get the business over as soon as possible.... No, not Paris, sir rather let us say Boulogne.... Pretty little place, Boulogne... do you not think so...?" "Undoubtedly, Sir Percy." "Then Boulogne it is.. the ramparts, an you will, on the south side of the town." "As you please," rejoined Chauvelin drily. "Shall we throw again?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking