And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. Oh, what have you been about now?’ ‘There is no need to be concerned. I have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase. She shrugged her shoulders. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. " "'Tis he, by Heaven!" cried Jonathan; "this is lucky. ” “And what are you doing here?” the lady asked.
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