"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. It does not matter to him either way. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide. Imbecile. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. He still watched her and questioned her. ” “Very well.
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