But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance.
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