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. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. She felt herself shaking again. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. “That is your sister’s name. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged.
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