Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. “Mean as an old mule, too. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. “We must go.
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