Twice or three times that week British tourists and travellers landed at the quai by the Place Verte from The Baron Osy—and this landing was Barty’s delight.
The sight of fair, fresh English girls, with huge crinolines, and their hair done up in chenille nets, made him long for England again, and the sound of their voices went nigh to weakening his resolve. But he stood firm to the last, and saw me off by The Baron. I felt a strange “serrement de cœur” as I left him standing there, so firm, as if he had been put “au piquet” by M. Dumollard! and so thin and tall and slender—and his boyish face so grave. Good heavens! how much alone he seemed, who was so little built to live alone!
It is really not too much to say that I would have given up to him everything I possessed in the world—every
