‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. Her sister had told him that it was true. When she came to school on Friday, she almost tripped twice going up the stairs. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQuMjU1LjI1NCAtIDA5LTA2LTIwMjQgMTQ6MDY6MDYgLSAxNzc0MzE4Nzky
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