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"I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. Gather he found stuff belonging to the real Valade, and the vicomte, as well as your own letter. Since then he has persistently annoyed me. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. . “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Could you just let me in? I have a surprise for him.
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