s cards and deal
them neatly? When a man is laid on the rack at the Inquisition, is it
natural that he should smile and speak politely and coherently to the
grave, quiet Inquisitor? Beyond that little question regarding the
cards, Harry's Inquisitor did not show the smallest disturbance. Her
face indicated neither surprise, nor triumph, nor cruelty. Madame
Bernstein did not give one more stab to her niece that night: but she
played at cards, and prattled with Harry, indulging in her favourite
talk about old times, and parting from him with great cordiality and
good-humour. Very likely he did not heed her stories. Very likely other
thoughts occupied his mind. Maria is forty-one years old, Maria has
false ----. Oh, horrible, horrible! Has she a false eye? Has she false
hair? Has she a wooden leg? I envy not that boy's dreams that night.

Madame Bernstein, in the morning, said she had slept as sound as a top.
She had no remorse, that was clear. (Some folks are happy and easy in
mind when their victim is stabbed and done for.) Lady Maria made her
appearance at the breakfast-table, too. Her ladyship's indisposition was
fortunately over: her aunt congratulated her affectionately on her good
looks. She sate down to her breakfast. She looked appealingly in Harry's
face. He remarked, with his usual brilliancy and originality, that he
was very glad her ladyship was better. Why, at the tone of his voice,
did she start, and again gaze at him with frightened eyes? There sate
the Chief Inquisitor, smiling, perfectly calm, eating ham and muffins.
O poor writhing, rack-rent victim! O stony Inquisitor! O Baroness
Bernstein! It was cruel! cruel!

Round about Farnham the hops were gloriously green in the sunshine, and
the carriages drove through the richest, most beautiful country. Maria
insisted upon taking her old seat. She thanked her dear aunt. It
would not in the least incommode her now. She gazed, as she had done
yesterday, in the face of the young knight riding by the carriage side.
She looked for those answering signals which used to be lighted up in
yonder two windows, and told that love was burning within. She smiled
gently at him, to which token of regard he tried to answer with a sickly
grin of recognition. Miserable youth! Those were not false teeth he saw
when she smiled. He thought they were, and they tore and lacerated him.

And so the day sped on--sunshiny and brilliant overhead, but all over
clouds for Harry and Maria.