Their small talk continued. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. Madman that I am to be so!" "Help!" shrieked Mrs. 6. ” “Where do you go?” “Oh!—Alps. Your purpose is done. “He is a sad blunderer. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched.
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