. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. Taber? There is a possibility.
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