“But, dear, think! He is your father. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. "I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified.
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