"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. But Lionel's discomfiture did not last a minute. Waiting until Canau was close up to him, he exclaimed-- "And pray, who the devil are you?" "Who am I, sir?" exclaimed Canau, fiercely; "I, sir, am a gentleman, the protector of these ladies. In my country, sir--in La France--it is not money, but birth, and the habits of a gentleman, that serve to make the aristocrat. You are in error, sir; and you will directly leave this room." Lionel was perfectly astounded, and each moment he grew more confused, hardly knowing whether to be amused, or to think that he was in some other part of the world. Was he dreaming? he asked himself, or was this really Decadia? But his short reverie was made even shorter, as, quite in an agony, Janet clung to Canau's hand, whispering imploringly, as she gazed in his face-- "Oh! for my sake, pray, don't! Do not be angry." "Hush! hush! my little one," said the Frenchman, softly, a most benignant aspect overspreading his poor worn countenance. "Be not afraid--it is nothing. You, sir," he continued, calmly turning to Lionel, "you are young, and you make mistakes. In my country satisfaction would have been asked; but this is not La France, and I forget. But monsieur will leave at once." In spite of himself, angry even at what he chose to call his weakness, Lionel felt that he was overmatched by his little adversary. He knew that they were standing upon different bases, and that while the one occupied by the Frenchman was solid and substantial, his own was rotten and untrustworthy. Above all, too, it would keep striking him as being startling, that there, in that low, wretched street, which he told himself he had visited for the purpose of carrying on a vulgar amour, one should start up with all the grand courtesy of a gentleman of the old _regime_, to rebuke him, and to call him to account for his flagrant breach of etiquette. He could do no other; and at last, stepping over the threshold, half annoyed, half puzzled, he suffered himself to be backed into the shop, and then to the door, Monsieur Canau putting on his hat as he progressed, but only to raise it with grim courtesy to the young man, who, frowning and humiliated, involuntarily raised his own, before walking fuming away.