In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre. She crooked her finger. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left.
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