‘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. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. With a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace. “Come this way,” he said.
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