"[...] But suddenly he stopped, gave a knowing smile, and said in a low voice: "No, no, Marquis Tudesco, let be, let Venice be a prey to Teuton savagery. The fetters of the fatherland are daily bread to the exiled patriot." His chin buried in his cravat, he stood chuckling to himself, and his red waistcoat rose and fell in jerks. Mademoiselle Servien, who sat by at the lesson knitting a stocking and for some moments had been watching the tutor, her spectacles pushed half-way up her forehead, with a look of amazement and suspicion, exclaimed, as if talking to herself: [...]."
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The Aspirations of Jean Servien
von Anatole France
"[...] But suddenly he stopped, gave a knowing smile, and said in a low voice: "No, no, Marquis Tudesco, let be, let Venice be a prey to Teuton savagery. The fetters of the fatherland are daily bread to the exiled patriot." His chin buried in his cravat, he stood chuckling to himself, and his red waistcoat rose and fell in jerks. Mademoiselle Servien, who sat by at the lesson knitting a stocking and for some moments had been watching the tutor, her spectacles pushed half-way up her forehead, with a look of amazement and suspicion, exclaimed, as if talking to herself: [...]."
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