"What does he say?" asked Leighton.

Lewis blushed as people stopped and added their sparkling eyes to those
of the crowd already gathered.

"He calls you a porter, and bids you fetch his father to see the sight."

"Ask him," said Leighton, calmly, "shall I know him who he thinks is his
father by his horns?"

Lewis translated innocently enough. The crowd gasped, and then roared
with laughter. The youth in Paris clothes turned purple with rage, shook
his little cane at Leighton, and burst into abusive language.

"Why," cried Lewis--"why, what's the matter with him?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Leighton, pensively. "And just now he was
so dignified!"

A private sedan-chair, borne by four splendid blacks, swung by at a run.
As it passed, one of its silk curtains was drawn aside and the face of a
woman, curious to see the reason of the crowd, looked out. The face was
clear white, blue-veined, red-lipped; under the black eyes were shadows.
A slight smile curved the red lips as the shadowy eyes fell upon
Leighton and Lewis.

Leighton went tense, like a hound in leash.

"Look, boy!" he cried. "A patrician passes!"