"Friday!" echoed Mrs. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. "You are arrested for high treason," rejoined Wild, presenting a pistol at his head, while he drew forth a parchment,—"here is my warrant. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica.
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