Jack turned away with an aching heart. No one would ever know what happened to him. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. "All right," he said. “Thank you,” she said coolly.
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