‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. ‘There you have soldiers. ‘And now,’ he said, drawing Madame to the seat, and contriving to sit close enough that his anatomy touched hers at several points, ‘let us talk about you, madame. ‘I assure you it was mutual. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage.
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