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"Hang me else." "If you are lying to me, I will come back and beat you to a jelly with your own broom." "It's the truth, monsieur," he said, with some proper show of respect at last. "Peyrot, at the Gilded Shears, Rue des Tournelles. You may beat me to a jelly if I lie." "It would do you good in any event," M. Étienne told him, but flinging him his pistoles, nevertheless.
"Who says he went out with anybody?" "I do," and M. Étienne made a motion to return the coins to their place. "Since you know so much, it's strange you don't know a little more," the old chap growled. "Well, Lord knows if it is really his, but he goes by the name of Peyrot." "And where does he lodge?" "How should I know?
Think of something serious; think of me! Think of Peyrot, think of Mayenne, think of Lucas. Think of what will happen to us now if Mayenne know us for ourselves." "Enough, monsieur," I said. "I am sobered." But even now that I held still we could not draw the last holes in the bodice-point nearly together.
He locked the box and proceeded solemnly and thoroughly to damn Peyrot. He cursed him waking, cursed him sleeping; cursed him eating, cursed him drinking; cursed him walking, riding, sitting; cursed him summer, cursed him winter; cursed him young, cursed him old; living, dying, and dead. I inferred that the packet had not been recovered. "No, pardieu!
I whispered, for whispering voices are hard to tell apart: "Not yet. The two of them are up there. Keep quiet, and I'll send the boy down. When you've finished him, come up." "As you say, monsieur. It is your job." I turned, scarce able to believe my luck, and, not daring to run, walked up-stairs again. Prick my ears as I might, I heard no movement after me. Actually, I had fooled Peyrot.
I did not care to have the whole stair know it, but to you I have no hesitation in confiding that I am M. de Mar." M. Peyrot swept a bow till his head almost touched the floor. "My poor apartment is honoured." As he louted low, I made a spring forward; I thought to pin him before he could rise.
I come to buy it." He looked at us a little dazed, not understanding, I deem, how we knew this. Certes, it had been too dark in the lane for his face to be seen, and he had doubtless made sure that he was not followed home. He said directly: "You are the Comte de Mar." "Even so, M. Peyrot.
"I have made my declaration in the presence of two witnesses, far too honourable to falsify, that I know nothing of the attack on the duke," Peyrot repeated with apparent satisfaction. "But of course it is possible that by scouring Paris I might get on the scent of your packet. Twenty pistoles, though. That is not much."
Though," he added, with a smile, "natheless, I think I should. But it is not likely this fellow knows of the warrant against me. Paris is a big place; news does not travel all over town as quickly as at St. Quentin. I think friend Peyrot has more to gain by playing fair than playing false, and appointing the cabaret of the Bonne Femme has a very open, pleasing sound.
In a case studied by Fevrier the exploration of a lateral pharyngeal fistula produced by the introduction of the sound violent reflex phenomena, such as pallor of the face and irregular, violent beating of the heart. The rarest of the lateral class is the preauricular fissure, which has been observed by Fevrier, Le Dentu, Marchand, Peyrot, and Routier.
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