Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. Gold-handled, too. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. Lucy ate without passion. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too.
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