Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. By a sort of instinct. She finished the olive and looked up. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates.
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