"I knew there was something up.

M'sieu' Nic's been writing long letters from Montreal." Baby's look suggested that he knew more than his position as postmaster entitled him to know; but the furtive droop at the corner of his eyes showed also that his secretiveness was equal to his cowardice.
On the seat, beside the driver of the coach, was Nicolas Lavilette, black-haired, brown-eyed, athletic, reckless-looking, with a cast in his left eye, which gave him a look of drollery, in keeping with his buoyant, daring nature.

Beside him was a figure much more noticeable and unusual.
Lean, dark-featured, with keen-glancing eyes, and a body with a faculty for finding corners of ease; waving hair, streaked with grey, black moustache, and a hectic flush on the cheeks, lending to the world-wise face a wistful look-that, with near six feet of height, was the picture of his friend.
"Who is it ?" asked the miller, with bulging eyes.

"An English nobleman," answered Baby.

"How do you know ?" asked Gatineau.
"How do I know you are a fat, cheating miller ?" replied the postmaster, with cunning care and a touch of malice.