ng the
slow process by which he had gained the ascent, he sprang with one leap
down to the ground: in doing so, however, his elbow struck the window,
and at the same instant that he reached the earth, the shivered
fragments of a pane of glass came clattering after him. In a moment the
sash was thrown open, and a head appeared above. "I have smashed the
window," cried George, in French, "as the only means of being heard.
They have locked me out of the hotel, and I don't fancy spending a
winter's night in walking the streets of Baden."

"You're an Englishman," said the voice from above, in English.

"Yes; but I don't see what that has to do with the matter," replied
Onslow, testily; "even a Laplander might prefer shelter in such a
season."

"If you 'll have the goodness to come round to the front door," said
the voice, one of the very softest and meekest of voices, "I shall have
great pleasure in opening it for you." And at the same time the unknown
held forth his candle in polite guidance to the other's steps.

"Thanks, thanks; never mind the light. I know the way perfectly," said
George, not a little ashamed at the contrast between his own gruffness
and the courtesy of the stranger whose window he had broken.

Onslow had barely time to reach the front door of the inn, when it was
opened for him, and he saw before him a very dapper little figure, who
with a profusion of regrets at not having heard him before, offered his
candle a wax one on this occasion for George's accommodation. Protesting
that the broken pane was not of the slightest inconvenience, that the
room was a small dressing-closet, that it was not worth a moment's
thought, and so forth, he permitted Onslow to escort him to the door of
his room, and then wished him a good-night. The scene scarcely occupied
the time we have taken to relate it, and yet in that very short space
George Onslow had opportunity to see that the unknown had all the easy
deportment and quiet breeding of one accustomed to good society. There
was, perhaps, a little excess of courtesy, at least according to that
school of politeness in which Onslow had been taught; but this might be
the effect of living abroad, where such a tone usually prevailed. The
urbanity was not exactly cold enough for George's notions. "No matter;
he 's no snob, that 's clear," thought he; "and even if he were,
he's done me good service." And with this blending of selfishness and
speculation he went to sleep,