"That's scarcely a fair question, Mr. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. However, confession of a fault makes half amends for it. ” They entered the place, a pleasant little café of the sort to be met with in the outlying parts of Paris. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE5MS4xMjcuNzYgLSAwNy0wNy0yMDI0IDA3OjM0OjI5IC0gMTM1MDQ2OTEyMA==
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