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Updated: May 15, 2025
They all embraced one another, and promised to let each other know how things went with them, and Don Fernando directed the curate where to write to him, to tell him what became of Don Quixote, assuring him that there was nothing that could give him more pleasure than to hear of it, and that he too, on his part, would send him word of everything he thought he would like to know, about his marriage, Zoraida's baptism, Don Luis's affair, and Luscinda's return to her home.
"So am I. But what I want to do is to find out who is marked out for the victim of this gigantic swindle. I want to put the victim wise. I'd be wild if I failed to find Don Luis's intended dupe and tell him just what he's in for." "Do you imagine that Montez will ever allow us to get face to face with the man who's to be fleeced?" "He won't do it intentionally, Harry.
A cluster of houses, a huge castle, towers, steeples: Angers.... Don Luis asked Davanne the time. It was ten minutes to twelve. Already Angers was a vanished vision. Once more the open country, broken up with many-coloured fields. Through it all, a road. And, on that road, a yellow motor. The yellow motor! The brute's motor! The motor with Florence Levasseur! Don Luis's joy contained no surprise.
But an indestructible love united us, a love which neither absence nor time was to weaken." He stopped for a moment, as though to read in Don Luis's face the effect produced by his story. Don Luis did not conceal his anxious attention.
You will remember, Monsieur le Préfet, that the other experiment was tried before and the letter was not delivered." "We will try it again," replied M. Desmalions, who, in spite of everything, was really afraid of Don Luis's interference, and increased his measures to make it impossible. Meanwhile, as the night wore on, the minds of all those present became impatient.
The Prefect made an angry gesture, not so much because of the ridiculous question as because he had really recognized Don Luis's voice beyond mistake. "Well?" he said, controlling himself. "What's all this about? Where are you?" "At my house, above the iron curtain, in the ceiling of my study." "In the ceiling!" repeated the Prefect, not knowing what to think.
"And you, Gato, throw down your knife. I will not have fighting here among men who must be friends." But Gato, after hearing himself described as a coward, saw only red before his eyes. He must have this Gringo's life, and that quickly. Afterwards he would explain and seek Don Luis's pardon. "If you prefer, Gato, we will shake hands and forget this," suggested Tom Reade.
On hearing this intelligence we at once determined to follow Don Luis's example, and although there seemed a certain degree of absurdity in four people, all holding some position in society, going off on what might turn out to be only a fool's errand, still the evidence we had before us, of the gold which had actually been found, and the example of the multitudes who were daily hastening to the diggings, determined us to go with the rest.
"With good reasons to back it up!" said the Prefect, laughing. "There's no doubt about it; you can't stomach the trick of the iron curtain. Well, go ahead! It's Don Luis's own lookout; he's brought it on himself. Mazeroux, ring me up at the office as soon as the telephone is put right. And both of you meet me at the Fauvilles' house this evening. Don't forget it's the night for the fourth letter."
M. Desmalions did not reply. After a brief moment he took Weber aside and talked to him for some minutes. M. Desmalions did not seem very favourably disposed toward Don Luis's request. But Weber was heard to say: "You need have no fear, Monsieur le Préfet. We run no risk." And M. Desmalions yielded.
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