"It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. "For the sake of the girl. ’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. Let me say it to you. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. " "Very well," replied Thames, about to depart. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed.
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