A Madame Valade and her husband. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. It had been very peaceful in the little cave for countless years. WE don’t think they’re right, but they don’t think we are.
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