A sudden knock at the door startled her. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. The musician. Her hair and voice and figure are as yours used to be. “You have them both,” Anna answered. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. ” “It’s very kind of you—” began Ann Veronica. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side.
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