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Updated: June 27, 2025
O'Toole finished his story as they came to Peri. They went boldly to the Cervo Inn, where all traces of the night's conflict had been removed, and neither Wogan nor the landlady thought it prudent to make any mention of the matter; they waited for Misset and his wife, who came the next day. And thus reunited they passed one evening into the streets of Bologna and stopped at the Pilgrim Inn.
O'Toole answered with a grunt on his right, Misset on his left, and Gaydon from the corner of the room. "But I have wanted you these last three days!" said Wogan. "To-morrow when I tell you the story of them you will know how much I have wanted you." They got, however, some inkling of Wogan's need before the morrow came.
Misset, who attends your Highness into Italy. We did not let her into the secret. We made up a comedy in which you have your parts to play. Your Highness," and he turned to Clementina, "is a rich Austrian heiress, deeply enamoured of Captain Lucius O'Toole." "Captain Lucius O'Toole!" exclaimed the mother, in horror. "My daughter enamoured of a Captain Lucius O'Toole!"
The part she plays in the escape must certainly be known. She will remain for the captors to punish as they will. I know no woman." "Nay," said Wogan; "you exaggerate her danger. Once the escape is brought to an issue, once her Highness is in Bologna safe, the Emperor cannot wreak vengeance on a woman; it would be too paltry." And now he made his appeal to Misset. "No, my friend," Misset replied.
Then he ran to the window and opened it. Gaydon followed him and drew up the blind. Both men listened and were puzzled. "That's the sound of horseshoes," said Gaydon. "But there's another sound keeping pace with the horseshoes," said Misset. O'Toole leaned on their shoulders, crushing them both down upon the sill of the window.
"Not a word, not a question, till he has eaten, or we shall have him in bed for a twelvemonth. Misset, do you run for a doctor. O'Toole, see what you can find in the larder." Wogan sat before the fire without a word while O'Toole spread the table and set a couple of cold partridges upon it and a bottle of red wine. Wogan ate mechanically for a little and afterwards with some enjoyment.
Gaydon tore his arm away from Misset. "I'll hear no more of it," he cried. "Poetry is none of my business." "There, Dick, you are wrong," said O'Toole, sententiously. Both Misset and Gaydon came to a dead stop and stared. Never had poetry so strange an advocate. O'Toole set his great legs apart and his arms akimbo.
"Has he ridden hard, do you think?" asked Misset. "He looks in a mighty ill-humour." O'Toole looked up from his plate, and became gradually aware that something was occurring. Before he could speak, however, Gaydon dropped the blind. "He is coming in. It will never do for him to find the four of us together.
No one can hear us; no one can burst in. But I am sure of that. Misset knows the trick that will make us safe from interruption, eh?" Misset looked blankly at Wogan. "Why, one can turn the key," said he.
Misset, however, joined in Wogan's prayer; and she mounted into the trap and at Wogan's side drove out of the town by that street along which the horseman had ridden. Clementina was silent; her driver was no more talkative. They were alone and together on the road to Italy. That embarrassment from which Wogan's confession of fear had procured them some respite held them in a stiff constraint.
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