He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. She felt flattered. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. One don't often get sich a vindfal as the Markis——" "Or such a customer as Mr. ’ Madame gave one of those breathy laughs. " "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. ‘And if you like, I will tell you why.
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