If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. That’s why I come to tell you. And I think I must pursue my acquaintance with the fulsome Madame Valade. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly. A trial always brings those involved into public notice, and I dare say he feels there will be scandal enough without adding to it.
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