He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. But while there's life there's hope. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect.
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