She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. 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. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. “So you’d best open your coffers. Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell.
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