’ ‘But it was not your fault,’ protested Gosse, shocked. "How long shall I be here?" he asked. "He says he don't understand flash," replied the lady in gentleman's attire. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. “My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. CHAPTER II.
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