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. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. "Enough!" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. " Mrs. “Let’s go outside. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. .
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