But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon.
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