. .the next moment she perceived a stranger
coming rapidly towards her. Marguerite did not look up: she was not
the least nervous, and "The Fisherman's Rest" was now well within call.
The stranger paused when he saw Marguerite coming quickly
towards him, and just as she was about to slip past him, he said very
quietly:
"Citoyenne St. Just."
Marguerite uttered a little cry of astonishment, at thus
hearing her own familiar maiden name uttered so close to her. She
looked up at the stranger, and this time, with a cry of unfeigned
pleasure, she put out both her hands effusively towards him.
"Chauvelin!" she exclaimed.
"Himself, citoyenne, at your service," said the stranger,
gallantly kissing the tips of her fingers.
Marguerite said nothing for a moment or two, as she surveyed
with obvious delight the not very prepossessing little figure before
her. Chauvelin was then nearer forty than thirty--a clever,
shrewd-looking personality, with a curious fox-like expression in the
deep, sunken eyes. He was the same stranger who an hour or two
previously had joined Mr. Jellyband in a friendly glass of wine.
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