She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Only she is not Madame Valade at all. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time. ” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. “A claim,” he continued, “which I am quite prepared to recognize. " (An order which was promptly obeyed.
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