Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. 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.
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