“I don’t see,” gasped Ann Veronica, “why parents and children. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back.
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