Just as the clergyman approached the altar, she perceived a boy steal quickly into the church, and ensconce himself behind the woollen-draper, who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience, and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting posture. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. She had warned him. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him.
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