A Tragedy of Error a Tragedy of Error

For some time this silence was maintained, broken only by the trickling of the oars and the sounds from the neighbouring shores and vessels. Madame Bernier was plunged in a sidelong scrutiny of her ferryman’s countenance. He was a man of about thirty-five. His face was dogged, brutal, and sullen. These indications were perhaps exaggerated by the dull monotony of his exercise. The eyes lacked a certain rascally gleam which had appeared in them when he was so empresse with the offer of his services. The face was better then—that is, —if vice is better than ignorance