THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
the long face and hollow note of virtuous regretfulness and resignation in his voice.
“Ochone! If there has been a duel in yer garden once in forty years, I’d never be the man to suspect it,” said the Irishman. The landlord raised a deprecating hand and disappeared.
“The garden?” growled Mornay. “I hope it may not be necessary to carry this matter there.” “But have ye thought? He may not come up to yer room?”
“He must—”
There was a cautious knock at the door, and Vigot entered, despair and distress written upon his features.
“Monsieur! Ill news! There was no room to let at the mercer’s. To-morrow is market-day, and the house is full to the garret. He would not let me even inside the door.”
“Tonnerre de Dieu!”
“And worse yet, monsieur—this place is watched. A number of black, silent figures are regarding it from the shadows—”
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