By the time we were under way again and threading the eastern alleys of the city—for they are called streets only by courtesy—his tongue had started too, and he was talking just as hard as ever. Now, however, his conversation took a more reminiscent and a more personal turn, and this led to such sweeping consequences that I shall keep the last half of our journey together for a separate chapter.
Chapter VIII
“Your valet? Pardon; I thought he had come to measure the gas!”
—Hercule d'Enville.