Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. The gulf between rich and poor was perhaps greater in France, but by all accounts it was not the canaille who were responsible for the present turmoil. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested.
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