He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat.
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