{"product_id":"2940014553353","title":"THE EARLY LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF SYLVIA SCARLETT","description":"PRELUDE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e=_Prelude_=\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt six o'clock on the morning of Ash Wednesday in the year 1847, the\u003cbr\u003eHonorable Charles Cunningham sat sipping his coffee in the restaurant of\u003cbr\u003ethe Vendanges de Bourgogne. He was somewhat fatigued by the exertions\u003cbr\u003ethat as \"lion\" of the moment he had felt bound to make, exertions that\u003cbr\u003ehad included a display of English eccentricity and had culminated in a\u003cbr\u003ecotillion at a noble house in the Faubourg St.-Germain, the daughter of\u003cbr\u003ewhich had been assigned to him by Parisian gossip as his future wife.\u003cbr\u003eMarriage, however, did not present itself to his contemplation as an\u003cbr\u003eurgent duty; and he sipped his coffee, reassured by the example of his\u003cbr\u003ebrother Saxby, who, with the responsibility of a family succession,\u003cbr\u003eremained a bachelor. In any case, the notion of marrying a French girl\u003cbr\u003ewas preposterous; he was not to be flattered into an unsuitable alliance\u003cbr\u003eby compliments upon his French. Certainly he spoke French uncommonly\u003cbr\u003ewell, devilishly well for an Englishman, he told himself; and he stroked\u003cbr\u003ehis whiskers in complacent meditation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCharles Cunningham had arrived at the Vendanges de Bourgogne to watch\u003cbr\u003ethat rowdy climax of Carnival, the _descente de la Courtille_. And now\u003cbr\u003ethrough the raw air they were coming down from Belleville, all sorts of\u003cbr\u003erevelers in masks and motley and rags. The noise of tin trumpets and toy\u003cbr\u003edrums, of catcalls and cocoricots, of laughter and cheers and whistling,\u003cbr\u003ecame nearer. Presently the road outside was thronged for the aristocrats\u003cbr\u003eof the Faubourg St.-Germain to alight from their carriages and mix with\u003cbr\u003ethe mob. This was the traditional climax of Carnival for Parisian\u003cbr\u003esociety: every year they drove here on Ash Wednesday morning to get\u003cbr\u003ethemselves banged on the head by bladders, to be spurted with cheap\u003cbr\u003escent and pelted with sugar-plums, and to retaliate by flinging down\u003cbr\u003ehot louis for the painful enrichment of the masses. The noise was for a\u003cbr\u003etime deafening; but gradually the cold light of morning and the\u003cbr\u003emelancholy Lenten bells cast a gloom upon the crowd, which passed on\u003cbr\u003etoward the boulevards, diminishing in sound and size at every street\u003cbr\u003ecorner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe tall, fair Englishman let himself be carried along by the exodus,\u003cbr\u003ethinking idly what excitable folk foreigners were, but conscious,\u003cbr\u003enevertheless, of a warmth of intimacy that was not at all disagreeable,\u003cbr\u003ethe kind of intimacy that is bestowed on a man by taking a pack of\u003cbr\u003efriendly dogs for a country walk. Suddenly he was aware of a small hand\u003cbr\u003eupon his sleeve, a small hand that lay there like a white butterfly;\u003cbr\u003eand, looking down, he saw a poke-bonnet garlanded with yellow rosebuds.\u003cbr\u003eThe poke-bonnet was all he could see, for the wearer kept her gaze\u003cbr\u003esteadily on the road, while with little feet she mimicked his long\u003cbr\u003estrides. The ineffable lightness of the arm laid on his own, the joyous\u003cbr\u003emockery of her footsteps, the sense of an exquisite smile beneath the\u003cbr\u003epoke-bonnet, and the airy tremor of invitation that fluttered from the\u003cbr\u003egolden shawl of Siamese crêpe about her shoulders tempted him to\u003cbr\u003ewithdraw from the crowd at the first opportunity. Soon they were in a\u003cbr\u003eby-street, whence the clamor of Carnival slowly died away, leaving no\u003cbr\u003esound upon the morning air but their footfalls and the faint whisper of\u003cbr\u003eher petticoats where she tripped along beside him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePresently the poke-bonnet was raised; Charles Cunningham beheld his\u003cbr\u003ecompanion's face, a perfect oval, set with eyes of deepest brown,\u003cbr\u003edemurely passionate, eyes that in this empty street were all for him. He\u003cbr\u003ehad never considered himself a romantic young man; when this encounter\u003cbr\u003ehad faded to a mere flush upon the dreamy sky of the past, he was always\u003cbr\u003ea little scornful of his first remark, and apt to wonder how the deuce\u003cbr\u003ehe ever came to make it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"By Jove! _vous savez, vous êtes tout à fait comme un oiseau!_\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"_Eh, alors?_\" she murmured, in a tone that was neither defiance nor\u003cbr\u003earchness nor indifference nor invitation, but something that was\u003cbr\u003ecompounded of all four and expressed exactly herself. \"_Eh, alors?_\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"_Votre nid est loin d'ici?\"_ he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNor did he blush for the guise of his speech at the time: afterward it\u003cbr\u003estruck him as most indecorously poetic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"_Viens donc,\"_ she whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"_Comment appelez-vous?\"_\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"_Moi, je suis Adèle._\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"_Adèle quoi?_\" he pressed.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47146083582192,"sku":"2940014553353","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940014553353_p0.jpg?v=1763610842","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940014553353","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}