She was consumed by misery and hate. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. ’ ‘I don’t even know your granddaughter, ma’am. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course.
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