No second letter arrived. But a telegram was received from the
lawyer toward the end of the week.

"Expect me to-morrow on business which requires personal
consultation."

That was the message. In taking the long journey to Cumberland,
Mrs. Linley's legal adviser sacrificed two days of his precious
time in London. Something serious must assuredly have happened.

In the meantime, who was the lawyer?

He was Mr. Sarrazin, of Lincoln's Inn Fields.

Was he an Englishman or a Frenchman?

He was a curious mixture of both. His ancestors had been among
the persecuted French people who found a refuge in England, when
the priest-ridden tyrant, Louis the Fourteenth, revoked the Edict
of Nantes. A British subject by birth, and a thoroughly
competent and trustworthy man, Mr. Sarrazin labored under one
inveterate delusion; he firmly believed that his original French
nature had been completely eradicated, under the influence of our
insular climate and our insular customs. No matter how often the
strain of the lively French blood might assert itself, at
inconvenient times and under regrettable circumstances, he never
recognized this foreign side of his character. His excellent
spirits, his quick sympathies, his bright mutability of mind--all
those qualities, in short, which were most mischievously ready to