Books: The Ink Stain, v2
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Rene Bazin >> The Ink Stain, v2
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However, it lasted only for a second. When she spoke, it was in a higher
key:
"Don't you think the breeze is very fresh this evening?"
A long-drawn sigh came from the back part of the carriage. M. Charnot
was waking up.
He wished to prove that he had only been meditating.
"Yes, my dear, it's a charming evening," he replied; "these Italian
nights certainly keep up their reputation."
Ten minutes later the carriage drew up, and M. Charnot shook hands with
me before the door of his hotel.
"Many thanks, my dear young sir, for this delightful drive home! I hope
we shall meet again. We are off to Florence to-morrow; is there anything
I can do for you there?"
"No, thank you."
Mademoiselle Charnot gave me a slight bow. I watched her mount the first
few steps of the staircase, with one hand shading her eyes from the glare
of the gaslights, and the other holding up her wraps, which had come
unfolded and were falling around her.
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