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What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry.
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