Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you. I want to leave Paris to-day. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit.
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