She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. ” “You’ll get them,” he said. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly.
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