ought only the terse Richard of
England for a like executive ability, "Off with his head! So much for
Vanrevel!"

She had lifted a slender hand to the fluttering veil, a hand in a white
glove with a small lace gauntlet at the wrist. This gesture was the
final divinity of the radiant vision which remained with the dazed young
man as he went down the street; and it may have been three-quarters of
an hour later when the background of the picture became vivid to him: a
carefully dressed gentleman with heavy brows and a handsome high nose,
who sat stiffly upright beside the girl, his very bright eyes quite as
conscious of the stricken pedestrian as were hers, vastly different,
however, in this: that they glittered, nay, almost bristled, with
hostility; while every polished button of his blue coat seemed to
reflect their malignancy, and to dart little echoing shafts of venom at
Mr. Vanrevel.

Tom was dismayed by the acuteness of his perception that a man who does
not speak to you has no right to have a daughter like the lady in the
carriage; and, the moment of this realization occurring as he sat making
a poor pretence to eat his evening meal at the "Rouen House," he dropped
his fork rattling upon his plate and leaned back, staring at nothing, a
proceeding of which his table-mate, Mr. William Cummings, the editor of
the Rouen Journal, was too busy over his river bass to take note.

"Have you heard what's new in town?" asked Cummings presently, looking
up.

"No," said Tom truthfully, for he had seen what was new, but not heard
it.

"Old Carewe's brought his daughter home. Fanchon Bareaud was with her
at St. Mary's until last year and Fanchon says she's not only a great
beauty but a great dear."

"Ah!" rejoined the other with masterly indifference. "Dare say--dare
say."

"No wonder you're not interested," said Cummings cheerfully, returning
to the discussion of his bass. "The old villain will take precious good
care you don't come near her."

Mr. Vanrevel already possessed a profound conviction to the same effect.
Robert Meilhac Carewe was known not only as the wealthiest citizen of
Rouen, but also as its heartiest and most steadfast hater: and, although
there were only five or six thousand inhabitants, neither was a small
distinction. For Rouen was ranked, in those easy days, as a wealthy
town; even as it was called an old town; proud of its age and its
riches, and bitter in its politics, of course. The French had b