“It is part of the irony of life,” he said. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ burst from mademoiselle as she jumped up. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door.
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