He smothered a laugh. Wild, Captain?" remonstrated the other, in a deferential tone. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. Her eyes noted it mercilessly. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor.
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