"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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