‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. I ought to be able to think things out. The burden of decision had been transferred. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. Thank you for walking me home the other day. “It’s a great deal for a young lady who’s alone in the world, as I suppose you are at present, to have a respectable home, and I do not think in such a case that private apartments are at all desirable.
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