Quite unaccountably, Hamel found himself shivering.
"It was their mother," Mr.Fentolin continued, leaning again a little forward in his chair, "their mother whom I saw pass along the beach just now--a widow, too, poor thing.

She comes here often--a morbid taste.

She spoke to you, I think ?" "She spoke to me strangely," Hamel admitted.

"She gave me the impression of a woman whose brain had been turned with grief." "Too true," Mr.Fentolin sighed.

"The poor creature! I offered her a small pension, but she would have none of it.