A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. When she spoke, her lips twitched. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here.
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