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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Marvellous, I call it... demmed marvellous," quoth Sir Percy blandly. Chauvelin had paused, half-choked by his own emotion, his hatred and prospective revenge. He passed his handkerchief over his forehead, which was streaming with perspiration. "Warm work, this sort of thing... eh... Monsieur... er... Chaubertin?..." queried his imperturbable enemy.
"Would you like to take hold of me by the leg, Monsieur Chaubertin?" he said gaily. "'Tis more effectual than a shoulder, and your picked guard of six stalwart fellows can have the other leg.... Nay! I pray you, sir, do not look at me like that.... I vow that it is myself and not my ghost.... But if you still doubt me, I pray you call the guard... ere I fly out again towards that fitful moon..."
"I, too, have not met M. Chauvelin for many a long month," said His Royal Highness with an obvious show of irony. "And I mistake not, sir, you left my father's court somewhat abruptly last year." "Nay, your Royal Highness," said Percy gaily, "my friend Monsieur... er... Chaubertin and I had serious business to discuss, which could only be dealt with in France.... Am I not right, Monsieur?"
"You have not heard of the measures which I have taken to prevent Lady Blakeney quitting this city without our leave?" "No, Monsieur Chaubertin... no... I have heard nothing..." rejoined Sir Percy blandly. "I lead a very retired life when I come abroad and..." "Would you wish to hear them now?" "Quite unnecessary, sir, I assure you... and the hour is getting late..."
"You would like to know, Monsieur Chaubertin, would you not?..." he added pleasantly, "what letter it is that your friend, Citizen Collot, is taking in such hot haste to Paris for you.... Well! the letter is not long and 'tis written in verse.... I wrote it myself upstairs to-day whilst you thought me sodden with brandy and three-parts asleep.
"There's no demmed hurry for that, is there... er... Monsieur Chaubertin?..." came from the slowly wakening Sir Percy in somewhat thick, heavy accents, accompanied by a prolonged yawn. "I haven't got the demmed thing quite ready..." Chauvelin had been so startled that the paper dropped from his hand. He stooped to pick it up.
"An you desired to talk secrets, Monsieur... er... Chaubertin... you should have shut this window... and closed this avenue of trees against the chance passer-by." "What we said was no secret, Sir Percy. It is all over the town to-night." "Quite no... you were only telling the devil your mind... eh?" "I had also been having conversation with Lady Blakeney.... Pray did you hear any of that, sir?"
"Odd's life, no," replied Blakeney, with a laugh. "Only as far as Lille not Paris for me . . . beastly uncomfortable place Paris, just now . . . eh, Monsieur Chaubertin . . . beg pardon . . . Chauvelin!" "Not for an English gentleman like yourself, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin, sarcastically, "who takes no interest in the conflict that is raging there."
"Quite right, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin curtly. "We had to discuss abominable soup in Calais, had we not?" continued Blakeney in the same tone of easy banter, "and wine that I vowed was vinegar. Monsieur... er... Chaubertin... no, no, I beg pardon... Chauvelin... Monsieur Chauvelin and I quite agreed upon that point. The only matter on which we were not quite at one was the question of snuff."
How long he had remained thus absorbed in his meditations, he could not afterwards have said; a minute or two perhaps at most, whilst he leaned back in his chair with eyes closed, savouring the sweets of his own thoughts, when suddenly the silence was interrupted by a loud and pleasant laugh and a drawly voice speaking in merry accents: "The lud live you, Monsieur Chaubertin, and pray how do you propose to accomplish all these pleasant things?"
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