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. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you.
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