“Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. The area was sparsely populated. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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