’ ‘Did no one know, then?’ ‘No, for the vicomte, we learned later, wrote to General Lord Charvill in pursuit of his sister. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. " So saying, he left the room.
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