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She looked at him mournfully. She could tell that he was leering at her. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. You will find the certificate in my pocket. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. We’ll find a way to survive. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. And with his daughter?’ ‘He wrote to Jarvis from an inn in France, saying that he had married Mademoiselle Valade, and that his baby naturally belonged with her father.
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