His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. When she arrived at the Palazzo, not a single sentry was aware of her presence. She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. ” He stopped abruptly.
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