His words shook the tent curtains. Within half-an-hour, such was
the infection of his eloquence, he had most of his company on their knees
beside him, and the Grand Duke, accommodated with a camp-stool, buried his
hand in his beard and followed every line without a breath. Of all in that
tent, she, Mary Germain, had been the only person to feel the
indescribable squalor in the situation--and she the only one who might
have been born to it; for her upbringing had been humble, and her rise in
the world sudden and short of durance. But she knew now that she had
hardly been able to live it out for very shame.
Directly the visitors had departed there had been a scene--she in tears of
vexation which scalded, and he concerned at her trouble, but unable for
the life of him to see what it was all about. He had been kindness itself.
He always was the kindest and gentlest creature. If she wanted a house,
hotel or what not, she should have it. In fact, he got her one, installed
her, and undertook to keep her there. She bit her lip now to remember that
she had agreed--and the ensuing difficulties. He had no money, and would
have none of his own, and he refused to live under a roof on any terms
whatsoever.
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