"I know the wale," replies Jo, staring, "and the bonnet, and the gownd." "Be quite sure of what you say, Tough," returns Bucket, narrowly observant of him. "Look again." "I am a-looking as hard as ever I can look," says Jo, with starting eyes, "and that there's the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd." "What about those rings you told me of?" asks Bucket. "A sparkling all over here," says Jo, rubbing the fingers of his left hand on the knuckles of his right, without taking his eyes from the figure. The figure removes the right hand glove, and shows the hand. "Now, what do you say to that?" asks Bucket. Jo shakes his head. "Not rings a bit like them. Not a hand like that." "What are you talking of?" says Bucket; evidently pleased though, and well pleased too. "Hand was a deal whiter, a deal delicater, and a deal smaller," returns Jo. "Why, you'll tell me I'm my own mother, next," says Mr. Bucket. "Do you recollect the lady's voice?" "I think I does?" says Jo. The figure speaks. "Was it at all like this. I will speak as long as you like if you are not sure. Was it this voice, or at all like this voice?" Jo looks aghast at Mr. Bucket. "Not a bit!" "Then, what," retorts that worthy, pointing to the figure, "did you say it was the lady for?" "Cos," says Jo, with a perplexed stare, but without being at all shaken in his certainty, "Cos that there's the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd. It is her and it an't her. It an't her hand, nor yet her rings, nor yet her woice. But that there's the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd, and they're wore the same way wot she wore 'em, and its her height wot she wos, and she give me a sov'ring and hooked it." "Well!" says Mr. Bucket, slightly, "we haven't got much good out of _you_. But, however, here's five shillings for you. Take care how you spend it, and don't get yourself into trouble." Bucket stealthily tells the coins from one hand into the other like counters--which is a way he has, his principal use of them being in these games of skill--and then puts them, in a little pile, into the boy's hand, and takes him out to the door; leaving Mr. Snagsby, not by any means comfortable under these mysterious circumstances, alone with the vailed figure. But on Mr. Tulkinghorn's coming into the room, the vail is raised, and a sufficiently good-looking Frenchwoman is revealed, though her expression is something of the intensest. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Hortense," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, with his usual equanimity. "I will give you no further trouble about this little wager." "You will do me the kindness to remember, sir, that I am not at present placed?" said Mademoiselle. "Certainly, certainly!" "And to confer upon me the favor of your distinguished recommendation?" "By all means, Mademoiselle Hortense."