At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. “I was half hoping that I might be allowed to see you home. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune.
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