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Updated: May 20, 2025
As they spoke they left the little cottage by the back door, as Signor Bruno had proposed, through the little garden, and across some low-lying fields. Presently they parted, Signor Bruno turning to the left, while the Vicomte d'Audierne kept to the right. "We shall meet, I suppose," were the last words of the younger man, "in the Rue St. Gingolphe?" "Yes in the Rue St. Gingolphe."
The tobacconist's shop is singularly convenient. It has, namely, an entrance at the back, as well as that giving on to the street of St. Gingolphe.
A moment later the sound of wheels awoke the peaceful stillness of the Rue St. Gingolphe. The vehicle stopped, and at the same instant the man passed through the little curtained doorway into the room at the back of the shop, closing the door after him. The gas was turned very low, and in the semi-darkness he stood quite still, waiting.
Gingolphe and Chillon, Bevay and Glion. So one day at the end of May they found themselves at Montreux. But Montreux was already hot and crowded, and Julie's eyes turned in longing to the heights. They found an old inn at Charnex, whereof the garden commanded the whole head of the lake, and there they settled themselves for a fortnight, till business, in fact, should recall Delafield to England.
Once across the bridge, turn to the right, and go along the Quay, between the lime-trees and the bookstalls. You will probably go slowly because of the bookstalls. No one worth talking to could help doing so. Then turn to the left, and after a few paces you will find upon your right hand the Rue St. Gingolphe.
Gingolphe, lifted the wounded aristocrat gently and placed him upon the improvised bed. True to his blood, the Vicomte d'Audierne uttered no sound of agony, but as his brother began to unbutton the butcher's blouse in which he was disguised he fainted quietly. Presently the doctor arrived.
It was a full, rich voice, and the French it spoke was not the French of Mr. Jacquetot, nor, indeed, of the Rue St. Gingolphe. It was the language one sometimes hears in an old chateau lost in the depths of the country the vast unexplored rural districts of France where the bearers of dangerously historical names live out their lives with a singular suppression and patience.
And so Raoul d'Audierne the man whose power in the world is like that of the fires burning within the crust of the earth, unseen, immeasurable and so he took his hat, and left the little room behind the tobacconist's shop in the Rue St. Gingolphe beaten, frustrated. "Money," Captain Lebrun was saying emphatically, as the Agnes and Mary drifted slowly past Gravesend pier on the rising tide.
So called to-day. Once upon a time but no matter. Bridges are peculiarly liable to change in troubled times. The Rue St. Gingolphe is situated between the Boulevard St. Germain and Quai Voltaire. One hears with equal facility the low-toned boom of the steamers' whistle upon the river, and the crack of whips in the boulevard.
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