He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. ‘Why did he make me French, Marthe? Why did he give me this name of Melusine, and say I am born of Suzanne Valade?’ Martha looked at her, but her lips remained firmly closed. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. .
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