Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. That you are not Valade at all, and that I am Melusine Charvill, the granddaughter of monsieur le baron, the general. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. In a few minutes after the delivery of this note he will be in Newgate. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered.
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