Alexandre Cabanel paintings

Alexandre Cabanel paintings
Anders Zorn paintings
Beginning, then, on Penelope's plan, I beg to mention that I was specially called one Wednesday morning into my lady's own sitting-room, the date being the twenty-fourth of May, Eighteen hundred and forty- eight.
`Gabriel,' says my lady, `here is news that will surprise you. Franklin Blake has come back from abroad. He has been staying with his father in London, and he is coming to us to-morrow to stop till next month, and keep Rachel's birthday.'
If I had had a hat in my hand, nothing but respect would have prevented me from throwing that hat up to the ceiling. I had not seen Mr. Franklin since he was a boy, living along with us in this house. He was, out of all sight (as I remembered him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke a window. Miss Rachel, who was present, and to whom I made that remark, observed, in return, that she remembered him as the most atrocious tyrant that ever tortured a doll, and the hardest driver of an exhausted little girl in string harness that England could produce. `I burn with indignation, and I ache with fatigue,' was the way Miss Rachel summed it up, `when I think of Franklin Blake.'
Hearing what I now tell you, you will naturally ask how it was that Mr. Franklin should have passed all the years, from the