’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ burst from mademoiselle as she jumped up. I must not let you go again. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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