Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. But they’ve just been to see General Charvill. 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. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. “I’ve fallen in love. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering.
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