I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face.
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