“Have you any letter for the post, Miss Halcombe?” he asked, approaching me with the bag.
I saw Madame Fosco, who was making the tea, pause, with the sugar- tongs in her hand, to listen for my answer.
“No, Count, thank you. No letters to-day.”
He gave the bag to the servant, who was then in the room; sat down at the piano, and played the air of the lively Neapolitan street- song, “La mia Carolina,” twice over. His wife,
“Have you any letter for the post, Miss Halcombe?” he asked, approaching me with the bag.
I saw Madame Fosco, who was making the tea, pause, with the sugar- tongs in her hand, to listen for my answer.
“No, Count, thank you. No letters to-day.”
He gave the bag to the servant, who was then in the room; sat down at the piano, and played the air of the lively Neapolitan street- song, “La mia Carolina,” twice over. His wife,
