. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. I told him that I was not ‘Alcide. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face; but he was merciless.
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