The Azure Rose: A Novel

He did not know why he headed toward his own room--it could hold nothing that he guessed of to welcome him, except further tokens of the dejection and misery he carried in his h...

Until just before the appearance of Charlie Cartaret's rosy vision, this had been a day of darkness and wet. Rain--a dull, hopeless, February rain--fell with implacable monotony...

Seraphin Dieudonné told the truth: at that moment Charlie Cartaret--for all this, remember, preceded the coming of the Vision--at that moment Cartaret was seated in his room in...

Charlie Cartaret would have told you--indeed, he frequently did tell his friends--that the mere fact of a man being an artist was no proof that he lacked in the uncommon sense c...

If that strange old woman in the rakish head-dress was in a hurry, Cartaret, you may be sure, was in no mood for tarrying by the way. He left the Café des Deux Colombes, picturi...

Cartaret did not see the Lady of the Rose next day, though his work suffered sadly through the worker's jumping from before his easel at the slightest sound on the landing, runn...

You would have said that it behooved a man in Charlie Cartaret's situation to devote his evenings to a consideration of its difficulties and his days to hard work; but Cartaret,...

Theft in its simplicity--however sharp and rude, yet if frankly done, and bravely--does not corrupt men's souls; and they can, in a foolish, but quite vital and faithful way, ke...

Sometimes a mattress is doubtless as efficient a means of pressing one's clothes as any other means, but doubtless always a good deal depends upon the mattress. By way of genera...

C'est état bizarre de folie tendre qui fait que nous n'avons plus de pensée que pour des actes d'adoration. On devient véritablement un possédé que hante une femme, et rien n'ex...

A great deal has been said, to not much purpose, about the vagaries of the feminine heart; but its masculine counterpart is equally mysterious. The seat of Charlie Cartaret's em...

For a great while Cartaret remained as a man stunned. It was only very slowly that there came to him the full realization of his loss, and then it came with all the agony with w...

The happiness of the good old times is a mere dream in every age; but to keep on the laws of the old times, in preserving to reform, in reforming to preserve, is the true life o...

Cartaret was lighted by his host himself to a bedroom high up in the castle and deep within it--a bedroom big enough and dreary enough to hold all the ghosts of Spain. An old ma...

For a moment none moved. There was Chitta, groveling on the stone floor of the circular room, her face hidden in her hands; there was Vitoria, her arms outstretched, struck rigi...

Summer held Paris in his arms when Cartaret returned there--held her, wearied from the dance with Spring, in his warm arms, and was rocking her to sleep. Romance had crowded com...