Oh! I'm in such a fluster!" Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside.
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