” There was silence between them. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. 1. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table.
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