Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. I have suffered him to be brought up decently—honestly; because I would make his fall the greater, and deepen the wound I meant to inflict upon his mother. ” She gazed at him. . “Hi.
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