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I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre. He was heartily thankful for it. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. For that matter, my future be damned. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. I have very few friends in Paris. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Why?" "I was just wondering.
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