“Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide.
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