Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. Ladders, paviour's rams, sledge-hammers, and other destructive implements were procured, and, in all probability, their purpose would have been effected, but for the opportune arrival of a detachment of the guards, who dispersed them, not without some loss of life. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. "I see you don't know him as well as you pretend. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. "It is too late. This also struck her as odd. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity.
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