" Downstairs he sought the hotel manager. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. She remained on guard. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. “Well, well, Martin. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me.
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