he looked on it was hard to have Madame Tank seize my head in her hands
and examine my eyebrow. She next took my wrists, and not satisfied,
stripped up the right sleeve and exposed a crescent-shaped scar, one of
the rare vaccination marks of those days. I did not know what it was.
Her animated dark eyes drew the brows together so that a pucker came
between them. I looked at Croghan, and wanted to exclaim--"Help
yourself! Anybody may handle me!"

"Ursule Grignon!" she said sharply, and Madame Grignon answered,

"Eh, what, Katarina?"

"This is the boy."

"But what boy?"

"The boy I saw on the ship."

"The one who was sent to America--"

Madame Tank put up her hand, and the other stopped.

"But that was a child," Madame Grignon then objected.

"Nine years ago. He would be about eighteen now."

"How old are you?" they both put to me.

Remembering what my father had told Doctor Chantry, I was obliged to own
that I was about eighteen. Annabel de Chaumont sat on the lowest log of