” They returned to the crypt. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Consternation gripped him. ” “You, then,” he said, “are ‘Alcide. Life is so good. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. You Americans laugh at our custom of honouring our ancestors, our many-times great grandfathers.
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