/0/5844/coverbig.jpg?v=b266b8ba2420a776832b20e8f56d609b)
This 1887 collection contains the story "The Merry Men," which is not about Robin Hood but is rather a supernatural tale set in Scotland, as well as "Will O' the Mill," "Markheim," "Thrawn Janet," "Olalla," and "The Treasure of Franchard."
They had sent for the doctor from Bourron before six. About eight some villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real people, and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street for Doctor Desprez.
The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the little dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in another, when the messenger arrived.
'Sapristi!' said the Doctor, 'you should have sent for me before. It was a case for hurry.' And he followed the messenger as he was, in his slippers and skull-cap.
The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop there; he went in at one door and out by another into the court, and then led the way by a flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft where the mountebank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live a thousand years, he would never forget his arrival in that room; for not only was the scene picturesque, but the moment made a date in his existence. We reckon our lives, I hardly know why, from the date of our first sorry appearance in society, as if from a first humiliation; for no actor can come upon the stage with a worse grace. Not to go further back, which would be judged too curious, there are subsequently many moving and decisive accidents in the lives of all, which would make as logical a period as this of birth. And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, who had made what is called a failure in life, and was moreover married, found himself at a new point of departure when he opened the door of the loft above Tentaillon's stable.
It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set upon the floor. The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man, with a Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet dangling. These three were the only occupants, except the shadows. But the shadows were a company in themselves; the extent of the room exaggerated them to a gigantic size, and from the low position of the candle the light struck upwards and produced deformed foreshortenings. The mountebank's profile was enlarged upon the wall in caricature, and it was strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was blown about by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. The chair legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy set perched atop of them, like a cloud, in the corner of the roof.
It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched skull, the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes. It was not merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the softest ruddy brown. There was a look in them, besides, which thrilled the Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He was sure he had seen such a look before, and yet he could not remember how or where. It was as if this boy, who was quite a stranger to him, had the eyes of an old friend or an old enemy. And the boy would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in a superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet against the bars of the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But, for all that, his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room with a thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether he was fascinating the boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He busied himself over the sick man: he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot and swore: and still, whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes waiting for his with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze.
At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered the look now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a dart, had the eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not at all deformed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at you from below his brows. The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to explain away his interest.
For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but looked placidly back at the Doctor.
'Is this your father?' asked Desprez.
'Oh, no,' returned the boy; 'my master.'
'Are you fond of him?' continued the Doctor.
'No, sir,' said the boy.
Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances.
'That is bad, my man,' resumed the latter, with a shade of sternness. 'Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their sentiments; and your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappointment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and vanish. How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with faculties! When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are touched with some affection.'
The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting.
'You did not know him,' he replied at last, 'he was a bad man.'
'He is a little pagan,' said the landlady. 'For that matter, they are all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what not. They have no interior.'
But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his eyebrows knotted and uplifted.
'What is your name?' he asked.
'Jean-Marie,' said the lad.
Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of excitement, and felt his head all over from an ethnological point of view.
'Celtic, Celtic!' he said.
'Celtic!' cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word with hydrocephalous. 'Poor lad! is it dangerous?'
'That depends,' returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more addressing the boy: 'And what do you do for your living, Jean-Marie?' he inquired.
'I tumble,' was the answer.
'So! Tumble?' repeated Desprez. 'Probably healthful. I hazard the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And have you never done anything else but tumble?'
'Before I learned that, I used to steal,' answered Jean-Marie gravely.
'Upon my word!' cried the doctor. 'You are a nice little man for your age. Madame, when my confrère comes from Bourron, you will communicate my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his hands; but of course, on any alarming symptom, above all if there should be a sign of rally, do not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I thank God; but I have been one. Good night, madame. Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie.'
View More Comments on App
/0/13926/coverbig.jpg?v=97773973915a62bdb1b23e50492efb08)
/0/11582/coverbig.jpg?v=208ee1aab192e801997421ed708c542c)
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850 – 3 December 1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. His most famous works are Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. A literary celebrity during his lifetime, Stevenson now ranks among the 26 most translated authors in the world. (Excerpt from Wikipedia)
/0/11300/coverbig.jpg?v=3417b03a50c506f85c4cdafd3cc006be)
A collection of essays about writing: "On some technical elements of style in literature", "The morality of the profession of letters", "Books which have influenced me", "A note on realism", "My first book: 'Treasure Island'", "The genesis of 'the master of Ballantrae'" & "Preface to 'the master of Ballantrae'".
/0/10900/coverbig.jpg?v=58b67b480d017bfb6d4c652d4e03ce8a)
Any reader who has spent some time with Robert Louis Stevenson's body of work won't be surprised to learn that the Scottish author was an inveterate traveler and world explorer from early adulthood. Later in life, the chronically ill author lived in locales around the globe in an attempt to find a home that was amenable to his ailing health. The collection Essays of Travel brings together some of Stevenson's finest essays, short memoirs, and other works that detail his thoughts on travel and foreign lands.
/0/9445/coverbig.jpg?v=a0f55d6157b4e45bb85ac31b70d096fe)
Across the Plains, with Other Memories and Essays by Robert Louis Stevenson
/0/9359/coverbig.jpg?v=62e4001e90015a52e0d5d1c5c73b539c)
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850 – 3 December 1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. His most famous works are Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. "St. Ives: Being The Adventures of a French Prisoner in England" (1897) is an unfinished novel by Robert Louis Stevenson. It was completed in 1898 by Arthur Quiller-Couch. The plot concerns the adventures of the dashing Capitaine Jacques St. Ives, a Napoleonic soldier, after his capture by the British. (Excerpt from Wikipedia)
/1/105857/coverbig.jpg?v=be989f164346fbb755b725e8be294596)
I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.
/0/86395/coverbig.jpg?v=55bb4b33b13d15db79b49aea662af755)
After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."
/1/106591/coverbig.jpg?v=60130d2fb865880aba4658a48f41a951)
I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.
/1/106332/coverbig.jpg?v=abcc99b5056a8d0c87e08cca38dd87f4)
I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.
/0/59403/coverbig.jpg?v=9a2075347b023a5a4fff70df4c908486)
Clocking 18, Suzie had just one thing in mind, to take revenge on everyone who has bullied her, including her father and the quadruplet brothers, one of them which she has given her entire heart only for him to shatter it. But hours before her shift, the goddess played a trick on her, mating her to the same brothers she desperately wanted to play with their lives. What would become of Suzie’s revenge especially now that the four brothers want to be with her? Even with their lives in danger, all they want is for their mate, whom they have tortured all this years to love and forgive them. Would this be possible for Suzie? Or would she turn a blind eye and watch their lives turn miserable? Find out.
/1/100495/coverbig.jpg?v=4b37f96bb8e8fc01c3cd65384722b188)
For three years, Deanna endured scorn in a one-sided marriage. When Connor forced her to choose between her career and a divorce, she didn't hesitate-she walked away. Determined to reclaim her birthright, Deanna returned as the brilliant heiress to a medical conglomerate. Her ex and his family begged for another chance, but it was too late. With a tycoon father, a legendary healer mother, a CEO brother who adored her, and a showbiz powerhouse sibling, Deanna's life overflowed with power. Even her arrogant rival, heir to billions, only ever had a soft spot for her.
© 2018-now CHANGDU (HK) TECHNOLOGY LIMITED
6/F MANULIFE PLACE 348 KWUN TONG ROAD KL
TOP
APP STORE
GOOGLE PLAY
