The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. I won’t try. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. Forgive my daring. ” She glanced at him, and it was suddenly apparent for one instant of illumination that this ring upon her finger was the crowning blunder of her life. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte.
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