He took off his hat, and stammered an excuse--"Come to look at the oak." At this moment Rose pounced on the purse, and held it up to Josephine.

He was caught.
His only chance now was to bolt for the mark and run; but it was not the notary, it was a novice who lost his presence of mind, or perhaps thought it rude to run when a lady told him to stand still.

All he did was to crush his face into his two hands, round which his cheeks and neck now blushed red as blood.

Blush?
they could both see the color rush like a wave to the very roots of his hair and the tips of his fingers.
The moment our heroines, who, in that desperation which is one of the forms of cowardice, had hurled themselves on the foe, saw this, flash--the quick-witted poltroons exchanged purple lightning over Edouard's drooping head, and enacted lionesses in a moment.
It was with the quiet composure of lofty and powerful natures that Josephine opened on him.

"Compose yourself, sir; and be so good as to tell us who you are." Edouard must answer.