’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. 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. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. “I feel quite sure that Mrs. It'll be turning over to-morrow. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment.
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