The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. The thing is, Miss Charvill —’ ‘He told you my name?’ cut in Melusine, surprised. ‘As Madame Valade, you will be an émigré, not a nun. His fingers closed upon her hand.
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