“So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. “I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. .
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