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Updated: May 8, 2025
I stood for a while amid a storm of sacre-ing, tempered disagreeably with laughter; and in the midst of these, while endeavoring to beat the dust from my clothes with my handkerchief, I heard a voice with which I was acquainted call, "Monsieur Beckett." I looked and saw the Marquis peeping from a carriage-window. It was a welcome sight. In a moment I was at his carriage side.
"I rather think the Count and Countess de St. Alyre." "And are they here, in the Belle Etoile?" he asked. "They have got apartments upstairs," I answered. He started up, and half pushed his chair from the table. He quickly sat down again, and I could hear him sacre-ing and muttering to himself, and grinning and scowling. I could not tell whether he was alarmed or furious.
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