The gallows is in view—I see it with all its hideous apparatus!—ough!" and shuddering violently, she placed her hands before her, as if to exclude some frightful vision from her sight. ’ The lady frowned suspiciously. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Hope reared. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. The world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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