‘But you will not be in a convent. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head.
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