Book Excerpt: selle ne s'enservira plus.' This is the thing I now write of, and at sight of it Iunderstood why there had been that snapping and crackling, and whatthe white fragments on the ground were.I hurried through the rooms, hoping to see a continuation of thatdrama--a scene of appeasement, perhaps, or of fury still implacable.But the two oddly-assorted players were not performing there. Mywaiter had told me he had not seen either of them before. I supposethey had arrived that day. But I was not destined to see either ofthem again. They went away, I suppose, next morning; jointly orsingly; singly, I imagine.They made, however, a prolonged stay in my young memory, and wouldhave done so even had I not had that tangible memento of them. Whowere they, those two of whom that one strange glimpse had befallen me?What, I wondered, was the previous history of each? What, inparticular, had all that tragic pother been about? Mlle. Ange'lique Iguessed to be thirty years old, her friend perhaps fifty-five. ERead More
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