He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. ‘Monsieur Charvill,’ pursued Valade, ‘has left the chateau, and since we have heard from him nothing at all, but for the letters to his daughter from Italy. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger.
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