She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. She pointed across the road. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. ” For a time there seemed no comfort for her even in Capes. Then the storm broke. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse.
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