" Jonathan made no answer, but snatching a torch from a bystander, jumped into the trench and commenced a diligent search. . . " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. ‘Did it indeed?’ ‘I should think he’s guessed, don’t you?’ ‘Without any doubt at all. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. After all—’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to see him,’ Melusine protested. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. " "Oh! of course," rejoined Mrs. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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