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Not wishing to arouse the clergyman, he went to his carriage which stood in the stable and lit the lamp in order to read the mysterious missive. The letter was written on a piece of paper torn out of an album. He recognized Henrietta's handwriting, and the contents of the note were as follows: "Good kind Gerzson! I implore you, in the name of all that is sacred, to depart from hence this instant.
At the expiration of half an hour, a page announced the Bishop of Cambrai and other gentlemen. The duke signified that they were to be admitted; and when the bishop entered the room, Charles, who was smarting from his late defeat, spoke angrily: "By the good God, my Lord Bishop, you are slow! Does it require an hour to write a missive of ten lines?
He hastily reread the last line and then deliberately held the precious missive over the lamp until it ignited. He would have given all he possessed to have preserved it. But the last line commanded: "Burn this at once and in the presence of the bearer." "There!" he said, regretfully, as he crumpled the charred remnants between his fingers and turned to the silent watchers.
It's confoundedly unfortunate Markeld couldn't have left his dog at home! Just see how small a thing may affect the fate of nations!" "Don't get philosophical," advised Blake. "There isn't time. Are you going to send that note?" Collins sealed the missive. "It's our only chance," he said, decidedly. "Don't you see; we've got to brazen this thing through.
I wish we could do something more before it's broken up." As he spoke, he passed his hand mechanically along the lower surface of the window ledge; then with a sudden exclamation he went down on his knees, and picked something out of the wall. It was another note written in cipher! The missive was certainly very brief, consisting of only seven letters:
The others divined that it was his own handiwork, drawn up in order to spin out the negotiations and leave his master a few days of grace. They respected his intentions, and nine days of grace were gained; but the only answer that Napoleon vouchsafed to Caulaincourt's appeals was the missive of March 17th from Rheims: "I have received your letters of the 13th.
The learned gentleman seemed to be astonished, and bore the missive to his state-room. Almost every one on board of the Josephine had a letter, and some had two or three. Paul had one from Grace, dated at Paris, in which she expressed a hope that, as she was to travel a few months with her father, she might see him in some of her wanderings.
"Thou seest, O daughter," said King Coel as Helena read the craven missive, "the end cometh as I knew it would. Well, man can but die." And with this philosophic reflection the "jolly old soul" only dipped his red nose still deeper into his big bowl, and bade his musicians play their loudest and merriest. But Helena, "not deficient in statecraft," thought for both.
‘I’m not going to show them to you, love,’ said he. ‘They’re hardly fit for a lady’s eyes—the most part of them. But look here. This is Grimsby’s scrawl—only three lines, the sulky dog! He doesn’t say much, to be sure, but his very silence implies more than all the others’ words, and the less he says, the more he thinks—and this is Hargrave’s missive.
Lessingham, who ten days ago left Naples to join certain friends in Rome; the first hurried glance over the present missive showed that it contained no intelligence. She had scarcely begun to read it attentively, when the door opened and Miriam came in.
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