. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. With Bess's assistance he then climbed up to the window, which, as has just been stated, was secured by iron bars of great thickness crossed by a stout beam of oak. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
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