In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. ‘Wait a minute, though. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. Bête, she told herself fiercely. He saw that she was tense. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. Indeed, it was his boast that he could find his way through any part of London blindfolded; and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his destination; for, grasping his companion's arm, he led him along a narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street.
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