The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. "Then we're imprisoned. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. ’ The lady shook her head, contriving at the same moment to utter a breathy little laugh. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. ‘As Madame Valade, you will be an émigré, not a nun.
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