They walked in silence. 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. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years. "Would you rather be alone?" "No. ” “Not exactly,” he answered nervously. . More often then not he refused to reveal specifics of his own past in Greece and Rome, choosing to relate fables and stories of an impersonal nature. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely.
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