“No!” he said aloud at last. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. . ’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother.
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