"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. Nothing was given away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to offer. I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. ‘Do not be imbecile. No idea that you were here, though. ” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room.
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