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Updated: June 20, 2025
Rondel, bewildered as one who had lived through a fairy-tale, sank into his chair. Did such ridiculous things happen? He turned to his cheque-book. Yes, there was the counterfoil, fresh as a new wound, from which indeed his bank account was profusely bleeding. Then he turned to his laurels: but, behold, they were all withered.
The clock whirred before striking the hour. Annette made a determined movement. Hyacinth looked up; he saw she meant it, all the more for the mocking indifference of her expression. 'Once more death, marriage, or the money? The clock struck. 'The money, gasped the poet. But Annette still kept her weapon in line. 'Your cheque-book! she said. Rondel obeyed.
I would kill you where you stand if I dared." With venomous hate she spat upon the floor, then seized her wailing children, shook them and waddled out of the room. There was a general sigh of relief. "You may return to the launch, Henderson," said the captain. "Monsieur Rondel," said Uncle John, grasping the young Belgian's hand, "we are grateful to you for your kindness.
In my dreams my old friends often come back to me and speak in their characteristic manner, more characteristic perhaps than I could represent them when awake, but the responses of mediums are either evasive or too highly generalized to be of any particular value. The story of Mary Runnel, or Rondel, which Julian Hawthorne narrates, is an excellent case in point.
The banners of William the Conqueror had been blessed by Rome. They represented Europe, and the inevitable flooding of the island outpost of "Germania" by the tide of European civilization. Chanson and carole, dance-songs, troubadour lyrics, the ballade, rondel and Noel, amorous songs of French courtiers, pious hymns of French monks, began to sing themselves in England.
You may find just a lyric here, a rondel there, set to the lilt of a phrase in an idle hour and sung in a passing moment to send a tired heart asleep. But that is all. Yet they are the women upon whom the world has spent six thousand years in the making; they are the women at whose breasts are fed the sons of men.
Her head was bare, her hair awry, her face sullen and hard; she was undeniably "fleshy" and not altogether clean. She resisted Henderson at every step and glared around her with shrewd and shifting eyes. Following her came Monsieur Rondel leading a boy and a girl, the latter being a small replica of the woman. The boy was viciously struggling to bite the hand of the Belgian, who held him fast.
The man accepted the mission without a word of protest. Charleroi was in central Belgium, but that did not mean many miles away and Rondel assured him they would meet with no difficulties. The trains were reserved for soldiers, but the Belgian had an automobile and a German permit to drive it. The roads were excellent. "Now, remember," said Patsy, "the lady you are going for is Mrs. Albert Denton.
Further on rose other and no less splendidly decorated tribunes, the seats of which had been sold at enormous rates to the aristocracy and wealthy citizens of Vienna for the benefit of the militia; and thousands had found seats on the trees surrounding the broad promenade and the rondel, and paid for their airy perches only with some pains and bruises.
Poor fly, I give you amber, modestly suggested the poet. But Annette repeated the word 'Immortality! with a scorn that almost shook the poet's conceit, and thereupon produced an account, which ran as follows: 'Mr. Hyacinth Rondel Dr. to Miss Annette Jones, For moiety of the following royalties: Moonshine and Meadowsweet, 500 copies. Coral and Bells, 750 copies.
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