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Updated: October 15, 2025
She slipped her hands into the sleeves of her domino and stood erect before Jacques Haret, her eyes blazing at him through the eyeholes in her mask. I was reminded of that Captain Agoust who, by the intensity of his gaze, goaded the Prince de Conti into a duel. Francezka's look at Jacques Haret was equivalent to running a sword through him.
In those days of riding together along sunny highways, through wild forests, and upon barren moorlands, Mademoiselle Capello came to speak to me with the charming frankness that was a part of her nature. Madame Riano was right in saying that much of Francezka's time was spent in speculation upon what she should do when she had a perfectly free hand.
Another gleam of humor shot from Francezka's eyes when she told me that Madame Riano claimed to have had supernatural information in Scotland that a Kirkpatrick was in trouble, which brought her home; but Francezka thought that Madame Riano had by that time grown a little tired of her sojourn in the land of Goshen, as she represented Scotland to be.
He had ever showed an indifference to the song, which once had been so dear to them, and had been so full of meaning for them. There was a look of uneasiness in his face, and he began for the first time to read attentively, his brows drawn together, while Francezka's fingers delicately played this quaint air.
"I know it, Madame," said I, "and Bold is a happy dog now that his master is come home." Francezka's brow clouded a little, and she looked about her to be sure that no gardeners or possible eavesdroppers were near. "No," she said gravely, even with a little quiver of her lip. "Bold is not a happy dog.
Her traveling chaise was in the tavern yard, and I caught sight of Peter, with two men servants, and Elizabeth, Francezka's maid. As always, Francezka seemed glad to see me. She knew I had no news of Gaston, and only asked me if search was still kept up for him. I told her yes, and that Count Saxe had increased the already large reward offered for news of Gaston.
I drew back from the window into the room, and avoided Francezka's searching glance. "You have seen it, I see," she said calmly. "Do you wonder that I am a wretched woman?" I gathered my wits about me, dismissed the strange impression I had got, and said, rising: "Madame, you have, after long waiting, had the husband of your first youth restored to you.
"I think not, Monseigneur," replied Count Saxe, "else your Grace would not have criticized my expedition into Courland so freely before my face." The bishop's chagrin was a little mitigated by Francezka's appearance at that moment.
Francezka's spirit was well known; she was not the niece of Peggy Kirkpatrick for nothing, and once or twice, so Count Saxe said, a word on her part and a flash of her eyes showed Monsieur Voltaire that she would throw up her part at the least hint of impertinence from him, so he behaved himself perfectly to her, as to Count Saxe.
That right hand and arm, so swift, so sure, so steady, so strong, was the one he had said was so weak, that he could not even guide a pen with it, nor play the guitar. Francezka's parting warning had been to remember the infirmity of that arm and then We rode along briskly the two leagues to the castle.
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