’ Madame gave one of those breathy laughs. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. Here a little delay occurred. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously.
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