" The answer to this request was a "smack" of a very different description, bestowed upon Sheppard's outstretched face by the little damsel, as she ran out of the room. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. We mustn’t make it so. God must love me, for he has guided me here.
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