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- 3395
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
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- 3364
- text
- father about the matter of painting him; but every pleasant morning kept
his easel and brushes and every thing in readiness; so as to be ready
the first moment your father should chance to drop in upon him from his
long strolls; for it was now and then your father's wont to pay flying
little visits to cousin Ralph in his painting-room.--But, my child, you
may draw back the curtain now--it's getting very dim here, seems to me."
"Well, I thought so all along, aunt," said little Pierre, obeying; "but
didn't you say the light hurt your eyes."
"But it does not now, little Pierre."
"Well, well; go on, go on, aunt; you can't think how interested I am,"
said little Pierre, drawing his stool close up to the quilted satin hem
of his good Aunt Dorothea's dress.
"I will, my child. But first let me tell you, that about this time there
arrived in the port, a cabin-full of French emigrants of quality;--poor
people, Pierre, who were forced to fly from their native land, because
of the cruel, blood-shedding times there. But you have read all that in
the little history I gave you, a good while ago."
"I know all about it;--the French Revolution," said little Pierre.
"What a famous little scholar you are, my dear child,"--said Aunt
Dorothea, faintly smiling--"among those poor, but noble emigrants, there
was a beautiful young girl, whose sad fate afterward made a great noise
in the city, and made many eyes to weep, but in vain, for she never was
heard of any more."
"How? how? aunt;--I don't understand;--did she disappear then, aunt?"
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