A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. “You are quite right, I think. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Do you see the time?” “I may come and see you?” Ennison asked, as his hand touched hers. She was reasonably certain why. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. CHAPTER XVII. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked.
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