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The Triflers

Creator: Bartlett, Frederick Orin
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It was impossible not to alarm madame. The mere fact that they were going out alarmed madame. Marjory stopped in the hall and quite coolly worked on her gloves. "We are going for a little walk in the sunshine," she said. "Will you not come with us?" Decidedly madame would not. She was too weak and faint. She should send for a friend to stay with her while she rested on her bed. "That is best for you," nodded Marjory. "Au revoir." With Marie by her side, she took her little walk in the sunshine, without hurrying, as far as around the first corner. Then she signaled for a cab, and showed the driver a louis d'or. "Hotel Normandie. This is for you--if you make speed," she said. It was a wonder the driver was not arrested within a block; but it was nothing less than a miracle that he reached the hotel without loss of life. A louis d'or is a great deal of money, but these Americans are all mad. When Marie followed her mistress from the cab, she made a little prayer of thanks to the bon Dieu who had saved her life.
Bertha and Her Baptism

BERTHA AND HER BAPTISM. By the Author of AGNES AND THE LITTLE KEY; _or_, BEREAVED PARENTS INSTRUCTED AND COMFORTED. BOSTON: S.K. WHIPPLE AND COMPANY, 161 WASHINGTON STREET. 1857. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by S.K. WHIPPLE & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
Mademoiselle inquired of the clerk for Monsieur Covington. Yes, Monsieur Covington had reached the hotel some fifteen minutes before. But he was ill. He had met with an accident. Already a surgeon was with him. "He--he is not badly injured?" inquired Marjory. "I do not know," answered the clerk. "He was carried to his room in a faint. He was very white." "I will wait in the writing-room. When the surgeon comes down I wish to see him. At once--do you understand?" "Yes, mademoiselle." Marie suspected what had happened. Monsieur Covington, too, had presented the driver with a louis d'or, and--miracles do not occur twice in one day. Marjory seated herself by a desk, where she had a full view of the office--of all who came in and all who went out. That she was here doing this and that Monte Covington was upstairs wounded by a pistol shot was confusing, considering the fact that as short a time ago as yesterday evening she had not been conscious of the existence in Paris of either this hotel or of Monsieur Covington. Of the man who, on the