The crowd had thinned a little and they walked through it easily, three
abreast. But Uncle William had moved to the other side of the girl,
as far away from the Frenchman as he could get. Now and then he cast a
glance of disapproval at the tall, dipping figure as it bent to the girl
or lifted itself to gaze at some picture. There was distrust in Uncle
William's glance, mingled with vague disturbance. When they paused
again, he moved around in front of the man. "The' 's suthin' kind o'
familiar about your face--" he began.

Sergia's hand was again on his arm.

He patted it lightly. "Don't you worry a mite, Sergia. I ain't goin' to
say anything rash. But it does seem to me as if I've seen Mr. Curie's
face somewheres or other. 'T ain't a face you're liable to forget."

The Frenchman acknowledged the compliment. "It is possible we have met.
You have traveled?"

"A leetle," admitted Uncle William.

Sergia's face relaxed. She moved away for a minute.

The Frenchman nodded. "We have doubtless met; but one forgets--" He
lifted his eyeglasses and surveyed Uncle William's round, good face. "It
doesn't seem as if I could have forgotten yours," he said thoughtfully.
"And yet I don't place it."

Sergia had returned. "He has been to St. Petersburg," she suggested.