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352 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1926
"He is a pig-person. I hate him. I am glad that I bit him, and threw the coffee over him."Justin, the jaded Duke of Avon, is one of those mastermind type of characters I adore, weaving his revenge plot while everyone else around him tries to figure out what his intentions are and why he's doing what he is. And yet the suave Duke gets tripped up by this irreverent young girl he's taken in, who sees him clearly but adores him nevertheless. He acts languid and casual around others, but every once in a while you see his true determination and strength of character show through his posing. He's also snarky and sarcastic and has a dry sense of humor:
"M'sieur, you will think I come upon a strange errand, but I have a wife!" [De Faugenac] beamed at Avon, and nodded several times.The humorous dialogue, mixed with a suspenseful story of revenge and the cat and mouse game between the Duke of Avon and his enemy, the Comte Saint-Vire, was just a pleasure to read.
"I felicitate you, m'sieur," said Avon gravely.
"Yes, yes! A wife! It will explain all."
"It always does," answered his Grace. . . .
"She eats her heart out for your so lovely, your so enchanting, your so elegant--"
Avon held up his hand. "M'sieur, my policy has ever been to eschew married women."
"But -- but -- what do you mean, m'sieur? My wife pines for your page. . . She cannot sleep a night until she knows that he is hers."
"It seems that madame is destined to spend many sleepless nights," said Avon.
--Austin Dobson: Epilogue to Eighteenth Century VignettesAll the stars!
"If you desire to do good to la petite, send her to me"
"My dear father, I have never desired to do good to anyone"
"Dear Edward has given Fanny a chocolate-coloured coach with pale blue cushions. The wheat is picked out in blue." He held the sheet at arm's length. "It seems strange, but no doubt Fanny is right. I have not been in England for such a time_Ah, I beg her pardon. You will be relieved to hear, my dear Hugh, that the wheat still grows as it ever did. The wheels are picked out in blue. Ballentor has fought..."
"Dear Edward has given Fanny a chocolate-coloured coach with pale blue cushions. The wheels are picked out in blue." He held the sheet at arm's length. "It seems strange, but no doubt Fanny is right. I have not been in England for such a time_Ah, I beg her pardon. You will be relieved to hear, my dear Hugh, that the wheat still grows as it ever did. Ballentor has fought another duel..."
The Duke fanned himself with an air, handling the chicken-skin like a woman.
”Where’s that pistol? Plague take this broth!” “He threw the bowl and the rest of its contents on the floor, settled his wig straight, and reached out a hand for the pistol”
"I thought you disliked melodrama, my friend?"
"I do; but I have a veritable passion for--justice."
"You've nourished thoughts of vengeance--for twenty years?"
The button of her foil came to rest below his left shoulder.
"Touche," said Avon. "That was rather better, infant."
Leonie danced in her excitement.
"Monseigneur, I have killed you! You are dead! You are dead!"
"You display an unseemly joy," he remarked. "I had no notion you were so bloodthirsty."
‘Oh, Monseigneur, I never thought that you would be so very blind!’ she said.
His Grace looked deep into her eyes, and then went down on one knee..
His Grace took snuff.
He walked mincingly, for the red heels of his shoes were very high. A long purple cloak, rose-lined, hung from his shoulders and was allowed to fall carelessly back from his dress, revealing a full-skirted coat of purple satin, heavily laced with gold; a waistcoat of flowered silk; faultless small clothes; and a lavish sprinkling of jewels on his cravat and breast. [...] although a light dress sword hung at the gentleman’s side its hilt was lost in the folds of his cloak,
It is so entertaining, and so—er—novel, to be a gilded saint in the eyes of—er—unfledged innocence. I shall keep the boy for just so long as he continues to amuse me.
“Me, I did not think them pretty. Painted, and vulgar, with loud voices, and common tricks. But I did not see much.” His brow wrinkled. “I do not know—I think perhaps I had offended Monseigneur, for of a sudden he swept round, and said ‘Await me below!’ He said it as though he were angered.”
“Promise! Please, you must promise!”
“This passion for oaths and promises!” sighed Avon. “I promise, my infant.”
“Monseigneur, I have killed you! You are dead! you are dead!”
“You display an unseemly joy,” he remarked. “I had no notion you were so bloodthirsty.”
“But it was so clever of me!” she cried. “Was it not, Monseigneur?”
“Not at all,” he said crushingly. “My guard was weak.”
Her mouth dropped.
“Oh, you let me do it!”
His Grace relented.
“No, you broke through, ma fille.”
She will always think him wonderful, and she’ll not mind his morals, for she’s none herself;