Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. Gosse had come to Blaye, so he had said, feeling it his duty as the vicomte’s erstwhile secretary to deliver the fateful tidings, bringing with him one of the servant girls, Yolande, who had also escaped the fury of the mob.
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