No matches found Ʊ͸18006Ԥ_ƼɼƻV4.23app

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      I am glad we are rich, Varley, she said."If I get her safe at home presently, I'll open her eyes for her," thought Tabitha. "I'll talk to her as if I was her mother. God knows I should be almost as sorry as ever her mother could be if she came to any harm."

      Isola looked at the clock on the chimney-piecea gilt horse-shoe with onyx nails; one of her wedding presents. It was early yetonly half-past nine. Lord Lostwithiel had talked about calling to inquire after her health. She felt overpowered with shyness at the thought of seeing him again, alonewith no stately Mrs. Mayne to take the edge off a tte--tte. Anything to escape such an ordeal! There was her boatthat boat of which she was perfect mistress, and in which she went for long, dawdling expeditions towards Fowey or Lostwithiel with only Tim for her companionTim, who was the best of company, in almost perpetual circulation between stem and stern, balancing himself in perilous places every now and then, to bark furiously at imaginary foes in slowly passing fishermen's boats.

      "It is a book you gave me years ago at Dinan," she answered, looking at him piteously. "'Hero Worship.' Don't you remember? I had never read anything of Carlyle's before then. You taught me to like him."You are going to be the sensation of the season, continued Lady Wyndover, and, with a little rueful laugh, I have got a nice time before me, I can see! You will be a good girl, and do as I tell you, wont you, dear? And you will tell me everything, will you not? You see, you are soso young, and soso fresh; and some of the men, who ought not to do so, will make love to youthe men you ought not to marry always doand we shall have to be very careful! For, now I have seen you, I have set my heart upon your doing really great things, andand Do you understand me, dear?

      DAlembert, one of the leading encyclop?dists, like most of them, intensely vain, and about whose origin nothing was known, claimed to be the illegitimate son of the Marquise de Tencin, of scandalous reputation. Mme. de Crquy, in her Souvenirs, scorns the idea, saying also that much of the evil spoken of Mme. de Tencin was untrue; but it is certain that many dark and mysterious rumours clung to the h?tel Tencin, the garden of which extended over what is now the rue de la Paix. Originally intended for the cloister, Mlle. de Tencin refused to take the vows at Grenoble, and was a conspicuous figure in the wild orgies of the Regency. An intimate friend of the notorious John Law, then controller-general of finance, she succeeded, partly by his influence, in getting her brother made Cardinal and Archbishop of Embrun, and during his lifetime did the honours of his h?tel, where, during the days of his power, John Law was a leading spirit. Fortunes were lost and won there in a night, but darker secrets than those of the gambling table were whispered concerning the h?tel Tencin, its inhabitants and guests. More than ordinary scandals, even in the days of the Regent Orlans and his shameless daughters, were circulated, and even the murder of one of her lovers was so far believed that Mme. de Tencin was arrested, though shortly afterwards acquitted.And M. Turquan, [130] in his life of Mme. de Montesson, says:

      Traffords not at all like that, he said; and there is not a bit of conceit or vanity about him. I dont think he knows hes good-looking, or that most of the women are madly in love with him. Hes not that sort of fellow. Hes grave and quiet. Poor old Trafford!The king was scrupulously clean, washing five times a day. He would allow no drapery, no stuffed furniture, no carpets in27 his apartments. They caught dust. He sat upon a plain wooden chair. He ate roughly, like a farmer, of roast beef, despising all delicacies. His almost invariable dress was a close military blue coat, with red cuffs and collar, buff waistcoat and breeches, and white linen gaiters to the knee. A sword was belted around his loins, and, as we have said, a stout rattan or bamboo cane ever in his hand. A well-worn, battered, triangular hat covered his head. He walked rapidly through the streets which surrounded his palaces at Potsdam and Berlin. If he met any one who attracted his attention, male or female, he would abruptly, menacingly inquire, Who are you? A street-lounger he has been known to hit over the head with his cane, exclaiming, Home, you rascal, and go to work. If any one prevaricated or hesitated, he would sternly demand, Look me in the face. If there were still hesitancy, or the king were dissatisfied with the answers, the one interrogated was lucky if he escaped without a caning.3