"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. No, not one little bit. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. "But calm yourself, dear sister, or the interview will be too much for you.
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