‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen.
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