Let me see my child, if he is really here?" "Behold him!" returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace.
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