’ The breathy laugh came, and Madame Valade abandoned her fan. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. He nodded. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. . The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. “But your sister,” he said.
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