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Updated: May 17, 2025
I clutched at the flapping ends of the paper and read on: Of all the scandals to which the present war has given birth, none has stirred France more profoundly than that implicating Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier, Count of Druyes, Marquis of Beuil and Santenay, and Duke of Raincy-la-Tour.
"This will be a hard jolt for the old chap," I thought, "but he'll say that I played the game." And Esme Falconer, my own brave, lovely Esme! "She has come down the staircase now," I told myself. "She has untied Marie-Jeanne. She has gone out and started the car." What would she think of my disappearance? Well, she wouldn't misjudge me, I felt sure; and neither would Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier.
The whole fantastic, incredible chain of happenings came back to me in a rush; the gray car, the inn, the murder, the night in the castle, Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier. "Dunny!" I heard myself quavering in a voice utterly unlike my own. The figure in the chair started up and hurried toward me, and then Dunny's hands were holding my hands, his eyes looking into mine. "There, Dev, there!
My brain began to work more rapidly. The little flashes of light seemed to run together, to crystallize into a whole. I knew. Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier, the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour, the Firefly of France.
As the chauffeur halted it near the pavilion, it disgorged three occupants, one of who, a young officer, slender of form and gracefully alert of movement, wore the dark-blue uniform of the French Flying Corps. I knew him only too well. It was Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier. But the glance I gave him was most cursory; my attention was focused hungrily on the two ladies in the tonneau.
Even a fairy prince could have been no worthier of her than this Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier; of that at least, I told myself dourly, I must be glad. "As I raced on," said the duke, "there came a certain thought to me. We had traveled far; we were in the country near Prezelay, my cousin's house.
The Duke of Raincy-la-tour looked back at me with cool, clear eyes, smiling half aloofly, a little scornfully, as in the presence of danger the true Frenchman is apt to smile. "I don't think, Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier," I reflected, "that you ever talked to the Germans except with bombs.
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