You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. “Are we cool?” Michelle asked her. “My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch.
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