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Alias the Lone Wolf by Louis Joseph Vance
page 52 of 402 (12%)
would find its way down the chimney to the drawing-room fire and send
sparks in volleys against the screen, with thin puffs of wood smoke
that lingered in the air like acrid ghosts.

At such times the curé, sitting at piquet with Madame de Sévénié, after
dinner, would cough distressingly and, reminded that he had a bed to
reach somehow through all this welter, anathematise the elements, help
himself to a pinch of snuff, and proceed with his play.

Duchemin sat at a little distance, talking with Madame de Montalais
over their cigarettes. To smoking, curiously enough, Madame de Sévénié
offered no objection. Women had not smoked in her day, and she for her
part would never. But Eve might: it was "done"; even in those circles
of hidebound conservatism, the society of the Faubourg St. Germain,
ladies of this day smoked unrebuked.

Louise had excused herself--to sit, Duchemin had no doubt, by the
bedside of d'Aubrac, under the duenna-like eye of an old nurse of the
family.

Being duly encouraged, Duchemin talked about himself, of his wanderings
and adventures, all with discretion, with the neatest expurgations, and
with an object, leading cunningly round to the subject of New York.

At mention of it he saw a new light kindle in Eve's eyes. Her breath
came more quickly, gentle emotion agitated her bosom.

Monsieur knew New York?

But well: he had been there as a boy, again as a young man; and then
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