At length the fellow-traveller said in very good English, though with French accent, "Would you object, sir, to my lighting my little carriage- lantern? I am in the habit of reading in the night train, and the wretched lamp they give us does not permit that. But if you wish to sleep, and my lantern would prevent you doing so, consider my request unasked."
"You are most courteous, sir. Pray light your lantern—that will not interfere with my sleep."
As Graham thus answered, far away from the place and the moment as his thoughts were, it yet faintly struck him that he had heard that voice before.
The man produced a small lantern, which he attached to the window-sill, and drew forth from a small leathern bag sundry newspapers and pamphlets. Graham flung himself back, and in a minute or so again came his sigh.
"Allow me to offer you those evening journals—you may not have had time to read them before starting," said the fellow-traveller, leaning forward, and extending the newspapers with one hand, while with the other he lifted his lantern. Graham turned, and the faces of the two men were close to each other—Graham with his travelling-cap drawn over his brows, the other with head uncovered.
"Monsieur Lebeau!"
"Bon soir, Mr. Lamb!"
Again silence for a moment or so. Monsieur Lebeau then broke it—
"I think, Mr. Lamb, that in better society than that of the Faubourg
Montmartre you are known under another name." Graham had no heart then
for the stage-play of a part, and answered, with quiet haughtiness,
"Possibly—and what name?"
"Graham Vane. And, sir," continued Lebeau, with a haughtiness equally quiet, but somewhat more menacing, "since we two gentlemen find ourselves thus close, do I ask too much if I inquire why you condescend to seek my acquaintance in disguise?"