.

TO FRANCE.
That cry, which she but half understood, was still ringing in her ears, when the door was of a sudden flung open, and across the threshold a very daintily arrayed young gentleman stepped briskly, the expostulating landlord following close upon his heels.
"I tell thee, lying dog," he cried, "I saw him ride into the yard, and, 'fore George, he shall give me the chance of mending my losses.

Be off to your father, you Devil's natural." Cynthia looked up in alarm, whereupon that merry blood catching sight of her, halted in some confusion at what he saw.
"Rat me, madam," he cried, "I did not know--I had not looked to--" He stopped, and remembering at last his manners he made her a low bow.
"Your servant, madam," said he, "your servant Harry Foster." She gazed at him, her eyes full of inquiry, but said nothing, whereat the pretty gentleman plucked awkwardly at his ruffles and wished himself elsewhere.
"I did not know, madam, that your husband was hurt." "He is not my husband, sir," she answered, scarce knowing what she said.
"Gadso!" he ejaculated.

"Yet you ran away from him ?" Her cheeks grew crimson.
"The door, sir, is behind you." "So, madam, is that thief the landlord," he made answer, no whit abashed.

"Come hither, you bladder of fat, the gentleman is hurt." Thus courteously summoned, the landlord shuffled forward, and Mr.
Foster begged Cynthia to allow him with the fellow's aid to see to the gentleman's wound.