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CHAPTER XXVIII. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side.
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