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The allegations of the valet, Folcker, strengthened my suspicions, hence I travelled from London and pursued my own independent inquiries, which have resulted in the discovery of the little piece of blade inside the glove which the Baron wore when he went to interview his mysterious visitor at The Hague."
"If only our brains keep cool," replied the Emperor. "It is needful in dealing with this young man." "He knows his Machiavelli," added the statesman, "but I think the Florentine did not write wholly in vain for us also." "Scarcely," observed the Emperor, smiling, and then rang the little bell to have his valet summon Dr. Mathys.
Everybody here likes him very much and I welcomed him personally as the nearest approach to an Anglo-Saxon that I have seen in many months. It was nervously comical to see Monsieur J. starting off, his valet following with a mattress on his back and a box of sandwiches in his hand against the misery of the night.
He was rising in his turn, when a servant approached him with a mysterious air. "Someone desires to see the marquis," whispered the valet. "Who?" "A young peasant who will not give his name." "On one's wedding-day, one must grant an audience to everybody," said Martial. And gay and smiling he descended the staircase. In the vestibule, lined with rare and fragrant plants, stood a young man.
In a few days Nurse Duval disappeared, and in a few days more Monte was able to dress himself with the help of the hotel valet, and sit by the window while Marjory read to him. Half the time he gave no heed to what she was reading, but that did not detract from his pleasure in the slightest. He liked the sound of her voice, and liked the idea of sitting opposite her.
"It isn't about myself that I have come," Duvall hastened to inform him. "It concerns a man in my employ my valet, to be exact." "Your valet?" The doctor frowned, and made as though to rise. "My dear sir " "One moment, please, Doctor. The man is a most worthy fellow. He has been in my service for years. A Belgian, too, I think.
He spent a long time over breakfast, tasting the various dishes, talking to his valet about some new liveries that he was thinking of getting made for the servants at Selby, and going through his correspondence. Over some of the letters he smiled. Three of them bored him. One he read several times over, and then tore up with a slight look of annoyance in his face.
The Merchant tried to leave the pier, but his path was blocked. "Subscribe, subscribe!" was the cry. "How much?" "Order, gentlemen, order!" said Sir Walter, rising and holding a bottle aloft. "A black person by the name of Friday, a valet of our friend Mr. Crusoe, has just handed me this bottle, which he picked up ten minutes ago on the bank of the river a few miles distant.
"Were you ever in the service of a Captain Danby?" enquired Anthony, his keen gaze on Clegg's impassive face. "Yes, sir, I was valet to Captain Marmaduke Danby two years ago." "I saw you with him once at a small inn called 'The Jolly Waggoner." Clegg bowed deferentially, but when he looked up his pale eyes seemed to glow strangely and his pallid cheek was slightly flushed.
Here the light forsook Renaldo's eyes, his knees knocked together, and he fell at full length insensible on the floor. His valet, hearing the noise, ran into the apartment, lifted him upon a couch, and despatched a messenger for proper assistance, while he himself endeavoured to recall his spirits by such applications as chance afforded.
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