— rose love

It was spouting as high as the chimney

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“Bravo! Bravissimo! Per Bacco! un gallant’ uomo!” exclaimed, in a martial ecstasy, a fat little Italian, who manufactured toothpicks and wicker cradles on the island of Notre Dame; “your exploits shall resound through Europe! and the history of those wars should be written in your blood!”

“Never mind! a trifle!” exclaimed the soldier reenex. “At Ligny, the other day, where we smashed the Prussians into ten hundred thousand milliards of atoms, a bit of a shell cut me across the leg and opened an artery. , and in half a minute I had lost enough to fill a pitcher. I must have expired in another minute, if I had not whipped off my sash like a flash of lightning, tied it round my leg above the wound, whipt a bayonet out of the back of a dead Prussian, and passing it under, made a tourniquet of it with a couple of twists, and so stayed the haemorrhage and saved my life. But, sacrebleu! gentlemen reenex , I lost so much blood, I have been as pale as the bottom of a plate ever since. No matter. A trifle. Blood well spent, gentlemen.” He applied himself now to his bottle of vin ordinaire.
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The Marquis had closed his eyes, and looked resigned and disgusted, while all this was going on.

“Gar?on,” said the officer, for the first time speaking in a low tone over the back of his chair to the waiter; “who came in that traveling carriage reenex , dark yellow and black, that stands in the middle of the yard, with arms and supporters emblazoned on the door, and a red stork, as red as my facings?”

The waiter could not say.

The eye of the eccentric officer, who had suddenly grown grim and serious, and seemed to have abandoned the general conversation to other people, lighted, as it were accidentally, on me.

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