The Eight Strokes of the Clock

Hortense Daniel pushed her window ajar and whispered: "Are you there, Rossigny?" "I am here," replied a voice from the shrubbery at the front of the house. Leaning forward, she saw a rather fat man looking up at her out of a gross red face with its cheeks and chin set in unpleasantly fair whiskers. "Well?" he asked. "Well, I had a great argument with my uncle and aunt last night. They absolutely refuse to sign the document of which my lawyer sent them the draft, or to restore the dowry squandered by my husband." "But your uncle is responsible by the terms of the marriage–settlement." "No matter. He refuses." "Well, what do you propose to do?" "Are you still determined to run away with me?" she asked, with a laugh. "More so than ever." "Your intentions are strictly honourable, remember!"