“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. An Englishwoman. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis.
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