revel in, toss up his hat and shout
hurrah in, send for his luggage, come and live in, die and be buried in.
She had never supposed such a street to exist outside the imaginations
of antiquarians. Smells direct from the sixteenth century hung in the
air in all their original integrity and without a modern taint. The
faces of the people in the doorways seemed those of individuals who
habitually gazed on the great Francis, and spoke of Henry the Eighth as
the king across the sea.

She inquired of a coppersmith if an English artist had been seen here
lately. With a suddenness that almost discomfited her he announced
that such a man had been seen, sketching a house just below--the 'Vieux
Manoir de Francois premier.' Just turning to see that her aunt was
following in the fly, Paula advanced to the house. The wood framework of
the lower story was black and varnished; the upper story was brown and
not varnished; carved figures of dragons, griffins, satyrs, and mermaids
swarmed over the front; an ape stealing apples was the subject of this
cantilever, a man undressing of that. These figures were cloaked with
little cobwebs which waved in the breeze, so that each figure seemed
alive.

She examined the woodwork closely; here and there she discerned
pencil-marks which had no doubt been jotted thereon by Somerset as
points of admeasurement, in the way she had seen him mark them at the
castle. Some fragments of paper lay below: there were pencilled lines on
them, and they bore a strong resemblance to a spoilt leaf of Somerset's
sketch-book. Paula glanced up, and from a window above protruded an old
woman's head, which, with the exception of the white handkerchief tied
round it, was so nearly of the colour of the carvings that she might
easily have passed as of a piece with them. The aged woman continued
motionless, the remains of her eyes being bent upon Paula, who asked her
in Englishwoman's French where the sketcher had gone. Without replying,
the crone produced a hand and extended finger from her side, and pointed
towards the lower end of the street.

Paula went on, the carriage following with difficulty, on account of
the obstructions in the thoroughfare. At bottom, the street abutted on
a wide one with customary modern life flowing through it; and as she
looked, Somerset crossed her front along this street, hurrying as if for
a wager.

By the time that Paula had reached the bottom Somerset was a long way
to the left, and