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. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison.
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