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Updated: June 2, 2025
The quarters of Van Blarcom and his uniformed friends opened from the gallery above the street passage, facing the main portion of the inn which sheltered the kitchen and salle a manger. Such was the simple, homely stage-setting. What of the play? Bleau, I now felt tolerably sure, was merely a mile-stone on the route of Miss Falconer.
I desire a room for the night in the Hotel of the Three Kings." "To accommodate monsieur," she assured me warmly, "will be a pleasure. Monsieur is an artist without doubt?" I wanted to say "Et tu, Brute!" but I didn't. When one came to think of it, I had no very good reason to advance for having appeared at Bleau.
On my return to the inn I would insist on an interview with Miss Falconer, and would tell her that either she must return with me to Paris or that the police of Bleau I supposed it had police must take a hand.
Having smoked one more cigarette for the sake of verisimilitude, I rose, stretched myself ostentatiously, and crossed the courtyard to the stairs, where madame was descending. She had, she informed me, been preparing my bed. "And I wish monsieur good repose," she ended volubly. "Hitherto, no Zeppelins have come to Bleau to disturb our dreams.
There, beneath my finger, lay the village of Bleau, a tiny dot; and from it, straight into the war zone, the traced line ran through Le Moreau and Croix-le-Valois and St. Remilly; ran to what was the name? I spelled it out: P-r-e-z-e-l-a-y. Though it was early in the game to be a wet blanket, I found myself gasping. "But," I protested weakly, "you can't do that!
"My time is valuable; it was a sacrifice to come to Bleau; but I had no choice. What's wrong, Miss Falconer? You don't object to my presence surely? If you go on freezing me like this, I shall think there's something about my turning up here that worries you upon my soul I shall!" She should by rights have been trembling, but her eyes blazed at me disdainfully.
And hear many pretty stories of my Lord Chancellor's being heretofore made sport of by Peter Talbot the priest, in his story of the death of Cardinall Bleau; Cardinal Jean Balue was the minister of Louis XI. of France. The reader will remember him in Sir W. Scott's "Quentin Durward."
We came on ahead and rang up the old woman there and commandeered her keys. We've been killing time here for a good half hour, waiting for you. You must have had tire trouble. And you don't seem very pleased to see us now that you've come eh, what?" At Bleau the previous night, I was recalling dazedly, there had been only three men wearing the horizon blue.
"Rest you merry, fair master," said the youth, who was not much pleased with his new acquaintance's jocularity, "I must go dry myself, instead of standing dripping here, answering questions." But tete bleau! what do you with a hunting glove on your hand? Know you not there is no hawking permitted in a royal chase?"
At Bleau, for instance, and at Prezelay I hadn't much time for eating bonbons; but after all you did me one or two more practical services, Mr. Bayne." "Nothing," I maintained, my gloom unabated, "that amounted to a row of pins. Though I might have shone, I'll admit; I can see that, looking back. The opportunity was there, but the man was lacking.
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