She found an old drunk wandering the streets. “That is your sister’s name. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet.
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