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M. Bonnechose put himself into an attitude of deep thought. He remained in it for a moment or two; then he exchanged it for one of joyful recollection. "On one occasion, a lady!" he exclaimed. "A Frenchwoman. Tall that is, taller than is usual amongst Frenchwomen slender elegant. Dark dark, black eyes not beautiful, you understand, but engaging." "Lisette!" muttered Celia.
On another occasion he discoursed with me about the special difficulties of France; and as I mentioned to him that I remembered his controversy with Cardinal de Bonnechose, in which the latter tried to drive him out of office because he did not fetter scientific teaching in the University of Paris, he spoke quite freely with me.
Celia caught her breath. "This this is the man who came to Hull," she whispered. "The man, you know, who called himself Lisette's brother. I knew him instantly." "And you, M. Bonnechose?" said the chief. "Do you recognize him?" The cafe-keeper, who had been making inarticulate murmurs of surprise and grief, nodded. "Federman!" he said. "Oh, yes, monsieur Federman, without doubt. Poor fellow!"
And at sight of the elegantly attired lady he bounced out of his chair, swept his silk hat to the ground, and executed a deep bow of the most extreme politeness. "This," observed the chief, with a smile at his visitors, "is Monsieur Aristide Bonnechose. M. Bonnechose believes that he can tell us something. It is a supplement to what Mrs. Perrigo told us yesterday.
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