antique iron gate, and the
bucket, hanging on a hook inside the fern-grown hood, was an old
wine-keg--appropriate emblem for a smuggler's house. In one corner,
girdled by about five square feet of green earth, grew a pear tree,
bearing large juicy pears, reserved for the use of a distinguished
lodger, the Chevalier du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir.

In the summer the Chevalier always had his breakfast under this tree.
Occasionally one other person breakfasted with him, even Savary dit
Detricand, whom however he met less frequently than many people of the
town, though they lived in the same house. Detricand was but a fitful
lodger, absent at times for a month or so, and running up bills for food
and wine, of which payment was never summarily demanded by Mattingley,
for some day or other he always paid. When he did, he never questioned
the bill, and, what was most important, whether he was sober or "warm as
a thrush," he always treated Carterette with respect, though she was not
unsparing with her tongue under slight temptation.

Despite their differences and the girl's tempers, when the day came for
Detricand to leave for France, Carterette was unhappy. Several things
had come at once: his going,--on whom should she lavish her good advice
and biting candour now?--yesterday's business in the Vier Marchi
with Olivier Delagarde, and the bitter change in Ranulph. Sorrowful
reflections and as sorrowful curiosity devoured her.

All day she tortured herself. The late afternoon came, and she could
bear it no longer--she would visit Guida. She was about to start, when
the door in the garden wall opened and Olivier Delagarde entered. As
he doffed his hat to her she thought she had never seen anything more
beautiful than the smooth forehead, white hair, and long beard of the
returned patriot. That was the first impression; but a closer scrutiny
detected the furtive, watery eye, the unwholesome, drooping mouth,
the vicious teeth, blackened and irregular. There was, too, something
sinister in the yellow stockings, luridly contrasting with the black
knickerbockers and rusty blue coat.

At first Carterette was inclined to run towards the prophet-like
figure--it was Ranulph's father; next she drew back with dislike--his
smile was leering malice under the guise of amiable mirth. But he was
old, and he looked feeble, so her mind instantly changed again, and
she offered him a seat on a bench beside the arched doorway with the
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