’ A peal of laughter came from the girl. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. That was life. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. You know—I worship you. Ah Coom. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool. The theme was a masquerade. 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. There was—a service. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. You tell me he didn't like the stuff.
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