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. . Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. A sob was strangled in her throat. Then we find out. The light would betray us. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool.
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