"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. “One hardly knows—all the time. "If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said, lamely. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England. ’ Footsteps sounded just outside, and Captain Roding walked in.
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