Lord Tony's Wife

Lord Tony's Wife

by Emmuska Orczy

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'Tyrant! tyrant! tyrant!'

It was Pierre who spoke, his voice was hardly raised above a murmur, but
there was such an intensity of passion expressed in his face, in the
fingers of his hand which closed slowly and convulsively as if they were
clutching the throat of a struggling viper, there was so much hate in
those muttered words, so much power, such compelling and awesome
determination that an ominous silence fell upon the village lads and the
men who sat with him in the low narrow room of the auberge des Trois

Even the man in the tattered coat and threadbare breeches, who ­­
perched upon the centre table---had been haranguing the company on the
subject of the Rights of Man, paused in his peroration and looked down
on Pierre half afraid of that fierce flame of passionate hate which his
own words had helped to kindle.

The silence, however, had only lasted a few moments, the next Pierre was
on his feet, and a cry like that of a bull in a slaughter-house escaped
his throat.

'In the name of God!' he shouted, 'let us cease all that senseless
talking. Haven't we planned enough and talked enough to satisfy our
puling consciences? The time has come to strike, mes amis, to strike I
say, to strike at those cursed aristocrats, who have made us what we
are---ignorant, wretched, downtrodden--senseless clods to work our
fingers to the bone, our bodies till they break so that they may wallow
in their pleasures and their luxuries! Strike, I say!' he reiterated
while his eyes glowed and his breath came and went through his throat
with a hissing sound. 'Strike! as the men and women struck in Paris on
that great day in July. To them the Bastille stood for tyranny---and the
tyrant cowered, cringed, made terms---he was frightened at the wrath of
the people! That is what happened in Paris! That is what must happen in
Nantes. The château of the duc de Kernogan is our Bastille! Let us
strike at it to-night, and if the arrogant aristocrat resists, we'll
raze his house to the ground. The hour, the day, the darkness are all
propitious. The arrangements hold good. The neighbours are ready.
Strike, I say!'

Product Details

BN ID: 2940013055575
Publisher: Purple Cow Publishing
Publication date: 08/28/2011
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
File size: 236 KB

About the Author

Emmuska Orczy was born in Tarnaörs, Heves County, Hungary, and was the daughter of composer Baron Felix Orczy de Orczi and Countess Emma Wass von Szentegyed und Czege. Her parents left Hungary in 1868, fearful of the threat of a peasant revolution. They lived in Budapest, Brussels, and Paris (where Emma studied music without success). Finally, in 1880, the family moved to London where they lodged with their countryman Francis Pichler at 162 Great Portland Street. Orczy attended West London School of Art and then Heatherley's School of Fine Art.

Although not destined to be a painter, it was at art school that she met a young illustrator named Montague MacLean Barstow, the son of an English clergyman; they married in 1894. It was the start of a joyful and happy marriage "for close on half a century one of perfect happiness and understanding of perfect friendship and communion of thought."

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