At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. “What happened then?” Michelle asked fearfully. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it.
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