As much worse as treachery ever is than violence; as the pitiless fraud of the serpent is baser than the rage of the wolf.
"I thought," Croisette added softly, not looking at me, "when I discovered that you had gone off with her, that I should never see you again, Anne.

I gave you up for lost.

The happiest moment of my life I think was when I saw you come back." "Croisette," I whispered piteously, my cheeks burning, "let us never speak of her again." And we never did--for years.

But how strange is life.

She and the wicked man with whom her fate seemed bound up had just crossed our lives when their own were at the darkest.