to assist the lady up the steps.

"I had the mischance to injure my right hand the other day," he
explained. "It is needful to keep it from the air."

It was thrust into the pocket of his coat.

"The Frenchman is vastly polite," said Mrs. Merriman to her daughter, as
they preceded him up the path to the house. "But there, that is the way
with their nation."

"Hush, mamma!" said Phyllis, "he may understand English.

"I do not like his smile," she added in a whisper.

"La, my dear, it means nothing; it comes natural to a Frenchman. He looks
quite genteel, you must confess; I should not be surprised if he were a
somebody in his own land."

As if in response to the implied question, the man moved to her side,
and, in a manner of great deference, said:

"Your jamadar named you to me, Madam; I feel that I ought to explain who
I am. My name is Jacques de Bonnefon--a name, I may say it without
boasting, once even better known at the court of his Majesty, King Louis
the Fifteenth, than in Chandernagore. Alas, Madam fortune is a fickle
jade. Here I am now, in Bengal, slowly retrieving by honest commerce a
patrimony of which my lamented father was not too careful."

"There! What did I say?" whispered Mrs. Merriman to her daughter as
Monsieur de Bonnefon went forward to meet them on the threshold of his
veranda. "A noble in misfortune! I only hope his wife is presentable."

They entered the house and were shown into a room opening on the veranda.

"You will pardon my leaving you for a few moments, Mesdames," said their
obliging host. "I shall bring my wife to welcome you, and send to
Chandernagore for a boat."

With a bow he left them, closing the door behind him.

"Madame de Bonnefon was taken by surprise, I suppose," said Mrs.
Merriman, "and is making her toilet. The vanity of these French people,
my dear!"

Minutes passed. Evening was coming on apace; little light filtered
through the chiks. The ladies sat, wondering why their hostess did not
appear.

"Madame takes a long time, my dear," said Mrs. Merriman.

"I don't like it, mamma. I wish we hadn't come into the stranger's
house."

"Why, my love, what nonsense! The man is not a savage. The French are not
at war with us, and if they were, they do not war on women. Something has
happened to delay Monsieur de Bonnefon."

"I can't help it, mamma; I don't like his looks; I fear something, I
don't know what. Oh, I wish father were here!"

She got