" And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. \" He commented heartily, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand. On the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. “I wish you would not do it. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. ‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. ’ ‘Entertained, he says!’ ‘Intrigued, then,’ amended Gerald equably, although truth to tell he was enjoying the mystery enormously. Least of all myself. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart.
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