Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched.
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