“Aha! there, mind, my child,” said Canau; “but you will make the feathers fly. What is it? Has one of the little dogs got loose, and have you hunted him? Eh? Ah, ma foi! but you are hot and red-faced, and angry! Has any one dared—but what is this?”
Monsieur Canau uttered this last query in fierce tones, for, following rapidly upon the entrance of Patty, there was the dislodging a cage or two, the rattle of some chains, and a general fluttering amongst D. Wragg’s feathered possessions, as Lionel Redgrave, in full pursuit, forced his way into the little room.
Volume Two—Chapter Eleven.
Lionel’s Check.
“There! I told you I would,” cried Lionel, who had hurried round the end of the counter, but not quickly enough to arrest the fleeing girl. “You know I met Wragg—”
He stopped short upon finding himself face to face with Monsieur Canau, who, reading at a glance, from Patty’s flushed and troubled face, the meaning of her retreat, started angrily to his feet, saying—
“Monsieur is in error; he makes a mistake. This room is private, and he will instantly retire.”
Taken by surprise, and half abashed for the moment, Lionel shrank from the shabby little figure before him. For the Frenchman, sallow and seamed of countenance, appeared to brighten up, and his breast began to swell, as he stepped towards the intruder.