oked round with childlike
curiosity at the great hearth, the oak rafters, and the yokels with
their elaborate smocks and jovial, rubicund, British countenances.

"A bit of it, Mademoiselle," replied Sir Andrew, smiling, "but all of
it, at your service."

The young girl blushed again, but this time a bright smile, fleet and
sweet, illumined her dainty face. She said nothing, and Sir Andrew too
was silent, yet those two young people understood one another, as young
people have a way of doing all the world over, and have done since the
world began.

"But, I say, supper!" here broke in Lord Antony's jovial voice, "supper,
honest Jellyband. Where is that pretty wench of yours and the dish of
soup? Zooks, man, while you stand there gaping at the ladies, they will
faint with hunger."

"One moment! one moment, my lord," said Jellyband, as he threw open the
door that led to the kitchen and shouted lustily: "Sally! Hey, Sally
there, are ye ready, my girl?"

Sally was ready, and the next moment she appeared in the doorway
carrying a gigantic tureen, from which rose a cloud of steam and an
abundance of savoury odour.

"Odd's life, supper at last!" ejaculated Lord Antony, merrily, as he
gallantly offered his arm to the Comtesse.

"May I have the honour?" he added ceremoniously, as he led her towards
the supper table.

There was a general bustle in the coffee-room: Mr. Hempseed and most of
the yokels and fisher-folk had gone to make way for "the quality," and
to finish smoking their pipes elsewhere. Only the two strangers stayed
on, quietly and unconcernedly playing their game of dominoes and sipping
their wine; whilst at another table Harry Waite, who was fast losing his
temper, watched pretty Sally bustling round the table.

She looked a very dainty picture of English rural life, and no wonder
that the susceptible young Frenchman could scarce take his eyes off her
pretty face. The Vicomte de Tournay was scarce nineteen, a beardless
boy, on whom terrible tragedies which were being enacted in his own
country had made but little impression. He was elegantly and even
foppishly dressed, and once safely landed in England he was evidently
ready to forget the horrors of the Revolution in the delights of English
life.

"Pardi, if zis is England," he said as he continued to ogle Sally with
marked satisfaction, "I am of it satisfied."

It would be impossible at this point to record the exact exclamation
which escaped through Mr