"Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. “Your mother was a Gypsy. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. It amounted to two-and-twenty pounds. Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris.
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