She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. Besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity. “Oh, yes, that’s right, we go to school. The investigators should have thought to check inside the garbage can. Tell me how are you amusing yourself?” Anna laughed. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue.
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