’ ‘Indeed?’ said Gerald, surprised. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. But she had loved the man. CHAPTER XXVI. I do not love any one. It contains news of the serious illness of a near relation at Paris.
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