Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. But we must not anticipate the course of events. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. “I wonder what happened.
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