A paralyzing horror was upon her. “I knew I should have died!” She went fast into a state of shock. 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. "I am one. Clement's church. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Then he turned with a fierce movement to take her into his arms. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist.
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