It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. "You'll find her quiet enough to-day, Sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. So far as I'm concerned, nothing could please me more. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness.
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