All was still as possible. Not a sigh of the night wind, nor a footstep, nor even the rustle of a leaf; when all at once I nearly screamed, for there was a sharp cough just above my head. And as my heart began to beat more and more tumultously than ever, there was a rustling in the ivy on the top of the wall, and a dark figure leaped to the ground, where I should have fallen had it not caught me in its arms.
I shut my eyes, as I shivered, half in fear and half with pleasure; and then I let my forehead rest upon my hands against his manly breast—for even in those moments of bliss the big buttons on his coat hurt my nose. And thus we stood for some few moments, each waiting for the other to speak; when he said, in a whisper,—“Better now?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied; “but I must leave thee now. Achille, à demain.”
“Eh?” he said, with a huskiness of tone which I attributed to emotion.
“I must leave thee now,” I said. “How did you get out?” he whispered. “By the side door,” I said, trembling; for an undefined feeling of dread was creeping over me.
“Any chance of a taste of anything?” he whispered.
“Good heavens!” I ejaculated, opening my eyes to their widest extent, “who are you?”
And I should have turned and fled, but that he held me tightly by the wrist.
“Well, perhaps, it don’t matter who I am, and never mind about my number,” said the wretch. “I’m a pleeceman, that’s what I am, county constabulary. Will that soot yer?”