‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian.
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