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Updated: May 18, 2025
But you gave the game away a little, my dear Guillot, when you allowed your quarry to come and gaze even from the shadows of his box at the woman he adored." "Where is he?" Guillot faltered. "He is on his way back to his country home," Peter replied. "I think that he will be cured of his infatuation for Mademoiselle. The assassins whom you planted in that room are by this time in Bow Street.
"My friend," he confessed, "for a moment I was surprised. It did not occur to me to see you in this guise." Granet smiled. "I have been out at the Front," he explained, "and am home wounded." "But an English officer?" Monsieur Guillot remarked dubiously. "I do not quite understand, then. The nature of the communication which I have come to receive is known to you?"
At night they had to put the flowers outside. Then the odors of the old house rose up terribly strong, but the sick woman did not dare complain. What would be the use, for she could not leave the Guillot Field to go elsewhere?
The man was still on the threshold when the boy went out on this errand, and he caught a glimpse of his face; but before the police-agent reached the spot, the ill-omened apparition had vanished. Gabriel now, as his eye rested full upon that threatening brow and those burning eyes, was convinced that be saw before him the terrible Pierre Guillot, whose very name blenched his father's cheek.
Why don't you go to Grain-of-Salt?" "I don't know Grain-of-Salt." "Why, he owns the Guillot Fields. You needn't be afraid of him, and he'd shoot anybody who tried to get in his place." "Will it cost much to go there?" "It costs a lot in winter, when everybody comes to Paris, but at this time I'm sure he won't make you pay more than forty sous a week. And your donkey can find its food in the field.
Promise!" Guillot turned suddenly towards her and there were strange things in his face. He pointed down the stairs. "Go back, Louise," he ordered, "back to your rooms, for your own sake. Remember that you have left the theatre too ill to finish your performance. You have had plenty of time already to get home. Quick! Leave me to deal with this young man. I tell you to go."
The sham Monsieur Guillot still smirked at the sham Louise, but the box by his side was empty. "It is over?" Violet asked, breathlessly. "It is over," Peter answered. It was, after all, an unrecorded tragedy.
Can you think that I will hazard these, with my head to boot, like a rash child? Do you suppose that, in entering into this terrible contest, I would consent to treat only with subordinates? Do not deceive yourself. Again, I say, tell your employers that they must confer with me directly, or je m'en lave les mains." "I will repeat what you say," answered Guillot, sullenly, "Is this all?"
Fear is his companion by day, and sits at night on his pillow. The Chouan, Pierre Guillot, who looked to George Cadoudal as a god, knows that George Cadoudal has been betrayed, and suspects Olivier Dalibard; and the Chouan has an arm of iron, and a heart steeled against all mercy. Oh, how the pale scholar thirsted for that Chouan's blood!
But you gave the game away a little, my dear Guillot, when you allowed your quarry to come and gaze even from the shadows of his box at the woman he adored." "Where is he?" Guillot faltered. "He is on his way back to his country home," Peter replied. "I think that he will be cured of his infatuation for Mademoiselle. The assassins whom you planted in that room are by this time in Bow Street.
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