Earles attended her obsequiously to the door. Diable. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. “Well?” she said, sitting down again.
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