U. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. ‘No mistaking you this time. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar.
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