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" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. 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. But I mean to have them. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. ” He did not look at her. " "He couldn't help it, Ruth. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life. . The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark.
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