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Updated: June 2, 2025
When his men had acquitted themselves with all the awkward sincerity of Lorraine peasants, he advanced with a superb bow and flourish, lifting his cap from his gray head: "In my quality of ex-pompier and commandant of the 'Terrors of Morteyn' my battalion" here he made a sweeping gesture as though briefly reviewing an army corps instead of a dozen wolfish-eyed peasants "I extend to our honoured and beloved Châtelaine de Nesville, and to our honoured guest, Monsieur Marche, the protection and safe-conduct of the 'Terrors of Morteyn."
Every day Lorraine had watched and waited for one word from her father; every day Jack had ridden over to the Château de Nesville, but the marquis refused to see him or to listen to any message, nor did he send any to Lorraine.
It's too late for rooks," said Sir Thorald, pouring out champagne-cup for Barbara Lisle. "I don't know where Jack went," said Dorothy. "He heard one of the keepers complain of the hawks, so, I suppose, he took a gun. I wonder why that strange Lorraine de Nesville doesn't come to call. I am simply dying to see her." "I saw her once," observed Sir Thorald. "You generally do," added his wife.
"No, are the Germans there? Oh, now I see. Why, it's a squadron of your cursed Uhlans!" "Yes," said Rickerl, mildly. "Then they've been chased out of the Château de Nesville!" "Probably. They may come back. Jack, can't you get out of this country?" "Perhaps," replied Jack, soberly. He thought of Lorraine, of the marquis lying mangled and dead in the forest beside the fragments of his balloon.
"And the smoke on the horizon?" "The smoke from the guns. They are fighting beyond Saarbrück yes, beyond Pfalzburg and Wörth; they are fighting beyond the Lauter." "Wissembourg?" "I think so. They are nearer now. Monsieur de Nesville, the battle has gone against the French." "How do you know?" demanded the marquis, harshly. "I have seen battles. One need only listen and look at the army yonder.
Presently he opened it and read it, and as he read his heart seemed to cease its beating. "Grief has unsettled my mind, yet, what I now write is true, and, if there is a God, I solemnly call His curses on me and mine if I lie. "My only son, René Philip d'Harcourt de Nesville, was assassinated on the Grand Boulevard in Paris, on the 2d of December, 1851.
Say that the Frederic Lethbridge you are inquiring about married a Miss de Nesville, and that there is a daughter in existence, a girl of nineteen. If Lady Mac doesn't know anything, get her to ask her friends; but do hurry up for Dick's sake, there's a dear, otherwise I shan't be able to pull the strings as you would like me to; and already my sweet nerves are jangled, out of tune.
After a moment he resumed: "The Emperor is said to be with the army near Mézières on the south bank of the Meuse. We are going to find him, Mademoiselle de Nesville and I. Tell us what to do." Tricasse stared at him, incapable of speech. "Very well," said Jack, gently, "think it over. Tell me, at least, how we can avoid the German lines. We must start this evening."
After breakfast he wandered moodily out to the terrace, where his aunt found him half an hour later, mooning and contemplating his spotless gloves. "Then you are not going to ride over to the Château de Nesville?" she asked, trying not to laugh. "Oh!" he said, with affected surprise, "did you wish me to go to the Château?" "Yes, Jack dear, if you are not too much occupied."
His face was pale and serious when, at evening, he rode into the porte-cochère of the Château de Nesville and dismounted, stiffly. He was sore, fatigued, and covered with dust from cap to spur; his eyes, heavily ringed but bright, roamed restlessly from window to porch. "I've kept my faith," he muttered to himself "I've kept my faith, anyway."
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