Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. They were inscribed with the name RIMBAUER, EMILIO J. "The devil you have!" thundered a voice from behind, that filled the apprentice with dismay. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs.
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