“It is denoted, besides,” continued his informant with increased courtesy, “by the red lantern over the portico, which since two years has been fixed over the doorway of every commissary’s residence in Paris. Day or night this will serve to distinguish them by a glance.” “Indeed?” was the sole answer, in a tone of some indifference. There was nothing officious in the younger gentleman’s unasked interference; while his singularly handsome face, his vivacious eyes, the air of life in his expression, along with an undeniable elegance of manner, were contrasted for the first time with his elder companion, who stood apart, and almost haughtily silent, a dark shade seeming to gather on his thin and dusky cheek, as he gazed into the street, having even withdrawn his momentary notice of the spirited horse. Yet the baronet felt less annoyed thus than by the prolonged politeness of his friend; he involuntarily bit his lip; there was something disagreeable even in being so promptly addressed in his own language. “Might it be possible for one to assist monsieur in any yet further manner?” inquired the stranger, with the same easy grace; though a peculiar smile, at the time unintelligible to Sir Godfrey, had hovered about his lips. “My best thanks, monsieur,” was the stiff response. “I think not—it is a mere ordinary piece of business;” and, bowing deeply towards his horse’s shoulder, the English baronet turned in the direction indicated. He could see them from the distance, however, overtaken by a light cabriolet, which seemed to have been slowly following them all the while; the young _élégant_ stepped leisurely in, and with a gesture of adieu to his friend, was driven swiftly off towards the city again; the white plume of the garde-du-corps disappeared among the passengers.