undertaker, with his reverent attendants of appearance guaranteed
respectable?

The great catalogue slipped to the floor with a terrible noise, and
Simon Shawn sprang out from his lair, and stopped at the sight of his
master in pyjamas under the full-blazing electric chandelier.

'All serene,' said Hugo; 'I only dropped a book. Go to sleep. Perhaps we
may reach Devonshire to-morrow,' he added kindly.

He sympathized with Simon.

'Yes, sir.'

He thought he would take a stroll on the roof; it might calm his
nerves.... Foolishness! How much wiser to take a sedative!

Then he turned to the Montaigne, and after he had glanced at various
pages, his eye encountered a sentence in italics: _'Wisdome hath hir
excesses, and no lesse need of moderation, than follie.'_

'True,' he murmured.

He dressed, and went out.




CHAPTER X