FEARED WINE

and a paletôt and a bonnet grec filled the void; also two eyes first vaguely

struck upon, and then hungrily dived into me.

"C'est cela!" said a voice. "Je la connais: c'est l'Anglaise. Tant pis. Toute

Anglaise, et, par conséquent, toute bégueule qu'elle soit— elle féra mon

affaire, où je saurai pourquoi."

Then, with a certain stern politeness (I suppose he thought I had not

caught the drift of his previous uncivil mutterings), and in a jargon the most

execrable that ever was heard, "Meess—— , play you must: I am planted

there."

"What can I do for you, M. Paul Emanuel?" I inquired: for M. Paul

Emanuel it was, and in a state of no little excitement.

"Play you must. I will not have you shrink, or frown, or make the prude. I

read your skull that night you came; I see your moyens: play you can; play

you must."

"But how, M. Paul? What do you mean?"