“I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. ” They returned to the crypt. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. No one would ever know what happened to him. I was being stupid. 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. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly.
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