ess of it!" she sighed. "Quick, Sir Andrew! ask the
man when he went."

"Ah yes, my friend," said Sir Andrew, addressing Brogard, with the same
assumption of carelessness, "my lord always wears beautiful clothes;
the tall Englishman you saw, was certainly my lady's friend. And he has
gone, you say?"

"He went . . . yes . . . but he's coming back . . . here--he ordered supper
. . ."

Sir Andrew put his hand with a quick gesture of warning upon
Marguerite's arm; it came none too sooe, for the next moment her wild,
mad joy would have betrayed her. He was safe and well, was coming back
here presently, she would see him in a few moments perhaps. . . . Oh!
the wildness of her joy seemed almost more than she could bear.

"Here!" she said to Brogard, who seemed suddenly to have been
transformed in her eyes into some heaven-born messenger of bliss.
"Here!--did you say the English gentleman was coming back here?"

The heaven-born messenger of bliss spat upon the floor, to express his
contempt for all and sundry ARISTOS, who chose to haunt the "Chat Gris."

"Heu!" he muttered, "he ordered supper--he will come back . . . SACRRE
ANGLAIS!" he added, by way of protest against all this fuss for a mere
Englishman.

"But where is he now?--Do you know?" she asked eagerly, placing her
dainty white hand upon the dirty sleeve of his blue blouse.

"He went to get a horse and cart," said Brogard, laconically, as with a
surly gesture, he shook off from his arm that pretty hand which princes
had been proud to kiss.

"At what time did he go?"

But Brogard had evidently had enough of these questionings. He did
not think that it was fitting for a citizen--who was the equal of
anybody--to be thus catechised by these SACRRES ARISTOS, even though
they were rich English ones. It was distinctly more fitting to his
newborn dignity to be as rude as possible; it was a sure sign of
servility to meekly reply to civil questions.

"I don't know," he said surlily. "I have said enough, VOYONS, LES
ARISTOS! . . . He came to-day. He ordered supper. He went out.--He'll
come back. VOILA!"

And with this parting assertion of his rights as a citizen and a free
man, to be as rude as he well pleased, Brogard shuffled out of the room,
banging the door after him.

CHAPTER XXIII HOPE

"Faith, Madame!" said Sir Andrew, seeing that Marguerite seemed desirous
to call her surly host back again, "I think we'd better leave him alone.
We shall not get