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" "Well, for my part," observed Mrs. E. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. Plainly. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. It seems that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the artist sister whom he was with. I'm heading for bed. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. Stanley, “very strongly. " "Well, well—wait awhile," returned Quilt; "his lordship won't forget you. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor.

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