From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. "One whom you may perhaps have forgotten," replied the stranger, "but who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. What I said about your brat was all stuff. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart.
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