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424 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP
Bunch then, from Baynes's look and expression, perfectly understood
what his adversary meant, and that the General's second
was found. His own he had in his eye—a tough little old army
surgeon of Peninsular and Indian times, who lived hard by, who
would aid as second and doctor too, if need were—and so kill two
birds with one stone, as they say. The Colonel would go forth
that very instant and seek for Dr. Martin, and be hanged to
Baynes, and a plague on the whole transaction and the folly of
two old friends burning powder in such a quarrel. But he knew
what a bloodthirsty little fellow that henpecked silent Baynes
was when roused; and as for himself—a fellow use that kind
of language to me ? By George, Tom Bunch was not going to
baulk him !
Whose was that tall figure prowling about Madame's house in
the Champs Elysées when Colonel Bunch issued forth in quest of
his friend ; who had been watched by the police and mistaken for
a suspicious character; who had been looking up at Madame's
windows now that the evening shades had fallen 1 Oh, you goose
of a Philip ! (for of course, my dears, you guess that the spy was
P. F., Esq.) you look up at the premier, and there is the Beloved
in Madame's room on the ground-floor;—in yonder room, where a
lamp is burning and casting a faint light across the bars of the
jalousie. If Philip knew she was there he would be transformed
into a clematis, and climb up the bars of the window, and twine
round them all night. But you see he thinks she is on the firstfloor
; and the glances of his passionate eyes are taking aim at the
wrong windows. And now Colonel Bunch comes forth in his stout
strutting way, in his little military cape—quick march—and Philip
is startled like a guilty thing surprised, and dodges behind a tree
in the avenue.
The Colonel departed on his murderous errand. Philip still
continues to ogle the window of his heart (the wrong window),
defiant of the policeman, who tells him to circuler. He has not
watched here many minutes more, ere a hackney-coach drives up
with portmanteaus on the roof and a lady and gentleman within.
You see Mrs. MaeWhirter thought she, as well as her husband,
might have a peep at Paris. As Mac's coach-hire was paid, Mrs.
Mac could afford a little outlay of money. And if they were to
bring Charlotte back—Charlotte in grief and agitation, poor child—
a matron, an aunt, would be a much fitter companion for her than
a major, however gentle. So the pair of MacWhirters journeyed
from Tours—a long journey it was before railways were invented
—and after four-and-twenty hours of squeeze in the diligence,
presented themselves at nightfall at Madame Smolensk's.