"Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. ” He never helped her by a sound. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. "I'll be their substitute.
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