Mrs. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. What’s your name?” He asked in return. “I believe so. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. ” “It isn’t nice going to prison. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. “I am not sure,” Anna answered. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. ’ ‘Emile Gosse,’ Melusine said flatly, in the same language.
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