"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. “I suppose I shall have to write an answer. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. His voice now had lost its ironies. She was in deadly earnest in everything she did. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon.
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