Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. ‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. ” “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket.
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