What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. Mr. Kneebone cordially on the shoulder, and began to laugh as heartily as any of them. Of all the amazing coincidences. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. . If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him.
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