"No, no--no, no, _mon enfant_; let the door rest," said Monsieur Canau. "Wait till I have finished this one bird. Patty will be here directly." Janet shrunk back into her chair, craning her neck forward, though, as she tried in vain to make out the words that were spoken. Her teeth gnawed her lip, and her nails seemed to be pressed into her hands, while the twitching of her wide nostrils told of the agitation that moved her so strongly. Twice she made as though to leap up, determined not to bear longer the restraint put upon her, but only to subside again into her eager listening attitude, as Monsieur Canau still painted on, humming softly an operatic air the while, as from time to time he stood to watch the progress of his work. He was evidently totally ignorant of what was taking place in the shop, his occupation for the time being completely filling his mind, so that neither did he notice the agitation of Janet, which grew each moment more marked and decided in character. At last the girl sprang sharply up, and walked towards the door, but only to be stayed by Canau. "A moment, little one!" he said; "the Indian ink is not here. Reach it down for me from the closet." With trembling hands, Janet crossed to the cupboard, and strove to find the cake of paint; but it was beyond her reach, and she had to take a chair before she could find it and return to the table. "Good! Now mix me a little upon that saucer; not too much." Janet obeyed without a word, and still Canau did not notice her agitation. At last, though, she was free; and with eyes glittering, she made towards the door, just as she could hear now some hurried words, uttered in a low tone, as if some one were pleading importunately. Then a few quick broken sentences followed, and one of the cages was slightly moved from its place. Another moment, and Janet's hand was upon the fastening of the door, and she had thrown it open in time to see Patty's drawn farther and farther over the counter in spite of her resistance, and there it was held. There were more words--hurried, eager words--a faint cry of remonstrance, and then Patty's hand was snatched away with a violent effort, and she rushed, hot and excited, into the room. "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 2, Chapter XI. LIONEL'S CHECK.