Her face expressed nothing. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. She rose to the fire to stoke it. Spurling had retired for the night. He tried again. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. " "Did he owe you money?" "Oh, no!" "Then why do you wish to know?" Ah Cum pondered. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure.
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