” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. “We will do Paris like the tourists, and thank God here comes dinner. Confidence in himself would strengthen him. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. "Don't ask me about it now. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him.
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