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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Juliette Marny is in England. I might meet her. I cannot tell what may happen: but I feel that the historic necklace might prove useful. Just as you please," he added with renewed indifference. "It was a thought that flashed through my mind when you spoke nothing more."
"Dismiss all the servants, Juliette; I have something to say," said the old Duc, and the young girl, silent, obedient, did as her father bade her. Father and sister were alone with their dead. As soon as the last hushed footsteps of the retreating servants died away in the distance. The Duc de Marny seemed to throw away the lethargy which had enveloped him until now.
The real Reception Committee, consisting of Mynheer in a burgomaster suit borrowed from a friend, and the four painters Marny as a Dutch Falstaff, Pudfut as a Spanish Cavalier, Stebbins got up as a Night Watch, and Malone in the costume of a Man-at-Arms all costumes loaned for the occasion by the antiquary in the next street were to await Joplin's coming in the privacy of the Gate almost a tunnel and so close to the door of the inn that it might have passed for a part of the establishment itself.
Everyone felt that farce was turning to tragedy. And yet it was obvious from the first that Deroulede merely meant once more to disarm his antagonist, to give him one more lesson, a little more severe perhaps than the last. He was such a briljant swordsman, and De Marny was so excited, that the advantage was with him from the very first. How it all happened, nobody afterwards could say.
'Looks like you, the old man said. 'Yes, it's my brother, he blurted out, slapping the dealer on the back." "Where did you pick Fiddles up?" I asked. "Nowhere," answered Marny; "he picked me up. That is, the gendarme did who had him by the coat collar." "'This fellow insists you know him, said the officer of the law.
Charlotte Corday, the half-educated litte provincial should not put to shame Mademoiselle de Marny, the daughter of a hundred dukes, of those who had made France before she took to unmaking herself. But she could not formulate any definite plans. Petronelle, poor old soul, her only confidante, was not of the stuff that heroines are made of.
They watched the two men fighting, with the same casual interest, at first, which they would have bestowed on the dancing of a new movement in the minuet. De Marny came of a race that had wielded the sword of many centuries, but he was hot, excited, not a little addled with wine and rage. Deroulede was lucky; he would come out of the affair with a slight scratch.
"Lady Blakeney is very beautiful too, Fanchon," rejoined the actress naively, "but I wonder if she will wear anything as fine as the Marny necklace?" The knocking at the street door was repeated. Candeille took a final, satisfied survey of herself in the glass. She knew her part and felt that she had dressed well for it.
"And a sixty-inch waist," interjected Joplin with a laugh, pointing at Marny's waistcoat. "I acknowledge it, old man, and I'm proud of it," retorted Marny, patting his rotundity.
Yet he felt both satisfaction not for his own safety, but because of his mother and Anne Mie, whom he would immediately send out of the country, out of all danger; and also because of her, of Juliette Marny, his guest, who, whatever she may have done against him, had still a claim on his protection. His feeling of surprise was less keen, and quite transient. Merlin had not found the letter-case.
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