In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview.
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