’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. \"Uh-oh. The great heart of the world beats only where men and women are gathered together.
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