. 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. In his youth he must have been a remarkably handsome man, for he is still handsome. . “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. I ought to have gone long ago. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. You should have known better, you cannot die, so your body and your instinct will 213 take over as your mind departs.
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