"I have not picked it out in the calendar."
"Fix the day, and I will wait till then. I will not open my mouth again till then."
"Michaelmas day, then, Monsieur," she answered mechanically and at haphazard, but with an urged gaiety, for a great depression was on her.
"Good. Till Michaelmas day, then!" He pulled his long nose, laughing silently. . . . "I leave the tailor in your hands. Give every man his chance, I say. The Abbe is a hard man, but our hearts are soft—eh, eh, very soft!" He raised his hat and turned to the door.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Always hoping the best from the worst of us
Have not we all something to hide—with or without shame?
In all secrets there is a kind of guilt
Pathetically in earnest
Things that once charmed charm less