New Arabian NightsC. Scribner's Sons, 1888 - 329 pages |
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
A. B. Frost acquaintance added adventure already answered ARABIAN NIGHTS asked bandbox began believe Berthelini Bohemia Brackenbury Cassilis cheroot Clara cloth Colonel Geraldine Commissary continued cream tarts cried dark dead Denis door Elvira eyes face father fear fell FLEEMING JENKIN followed Francis garden gentleman girl Graden hand Harry Harry Hartley head heard heart holy orders honor hour Huddlestone knew Lady Vandeleur Leon light looked Malétroit Malthus mind Miss Vandeleur Monsieur morning never night Northmour once paper passed paused pavilion person President Prince Florizel Rajah's Diamond remember replied returned Rolles round Saratoga trunk Scrymgeour seemed Silas smile speak spirit steps stood story strange street Stubbs suddenly Suicide Club sure Tabary tell thing thought tion took turned Villon voice walk wife window woman word young
Popular passages
Page 266 - I'm not a devil from hell, God strike me dead. I would have you to know I've an honor of my own, as good as yours, though I don't prate about it all day long, as if it was a God's miracle to have any. It seems quite natural to me; I keep it in its box till it's wanted. Why now, look you here, how long have I been in this room with you ? Did you not tell me you were alone in...
Page 246 - There was not much to betray it from without ; only a stream of warm vapor from the chimney-top, a patch where the snow melted on the roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints at the door. But within, behind the shuttered windows, Master Francis Villon, the poet, and some of the thievish crew with whom he consorted, were keeping the night alive and passing round the bottle. A great pile of living embers diffused a strong and ruddy glow from the arched chimney. Before this straddled Dom Nicolas,...
Page 246 - ... river. High up overhead the snow settled among the tracery of the cathedral towers. Many a niche was drifted full; many a statue wore a long white bonnet on its grotesque or sainted head. The gargoyles had been transformed into great false noses, drooping towards the point. The crockets were like upright pillows swollen on one side. In the intervals of the wind, there was a dull sound of dripping about the precincts of the church. The cemetery of St. John had taken its own share of the snow....
Page 285 - Is Messire de Maletroit at hand? " " I believe he is writing in the salle without," she answered. " May I lead you thither, madam ? " asked Denis, offering his hand with his most courtly bearing. She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in a very drooping and...
Page 287 - ... want of politeness to a lady ? " Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture. It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this symptom of an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added sweetly: "If you will give me your word of...
Page 247 - About the first there clung some flavour of good birth and training, as about a fallen angel; something long, lithe, and courtly in the person; something aquiline and darkling in the face. Thevenin, poor soul, was in great feather: he had done a good stroke of knavery that afternoon in the Faubourg St. Jacques, and all night he had been gaining from Montigny. A flat smile illuminated his face; his bald head shone rosily in a garland of red curls; his little protuberant stomach shook with silent chucklings...
Page 262 - The wars are the field of honor," returned the old man proudly. "There a man plays his life upon the cast; 'he fights in the name of his lord the king, his Lord God, and all their lordships the holy saints and angels.
Page 293 - What you will," said Denis, and he pressed her fingers in his. She was silent. " Blanche," he said, with a swift, uncertain, passionate utterance, "you have seen whether I fear death. You must know well enough that I would as gladly leap out of that window into the empty air as to lay a finger on you without your free and full consent.
Page 248 - ... and sometimes raised its voice in a victorious whoop, and made sepulchral grumblings in the chimney. The cold was growing sharper as the night went on. Villon, protruding his lips, imitated the gust with something between a whistle and a groan. It was an eerie, uncomfortable talent of the poet's, much detested by the Picardy monk. "Can't you hear it rattle in the gibbet?