"Thy business ?" "Surely," answered the man, with a deprecating smile, "the streets are broad enough for both?
Thou art not so bad a republican as to arrogate all Paris to thyself!" "Go on first, then.

I make way for thee." The man bowed, doffed his hat politely, and passed forward.

The next moment Glyndon plunged into a winding lane, and fled fast through a labyrinth of streets, passages, and alleys.

By degrees he composed himself, and, looking behind, imagined that he had baffled the pursuer; he then, by a circuitous route, bent his way once more to his home.

As he emerged into one of the broader streets, a passenger, wrapped in a mantle, brushing so quickly by him that he did not observe his countenance, whispered, "Clarence Glyndon, you are dogged,--follow me!" and the stranger walked quickly before him.