THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
“Don’t ye go. It will be a trap. The man will not fight, I tell you, while the law of England can do his vengeance for him. Ye’ll run afoul of an army of constables.”
“I know it, but I’ll risk it.”
“And if ye kill him ye destroy the last proof of yer birth,” sneered the Irishman.
“I don’t know,” replied Mornay, coolly. Cornbury stormed up and down the room in a rage.
“Ye’ll have your will,” he cried, “for the sake of a little fight. Go to your death, rash man that ye are, but don’t say that I haven’t warned ye.”
“Cornbury, listen. I’ve a desire to look into the pockets of this Capitaine Ferraire.”
“And what do ye think ye’ll find there—the blessing of the Pope?”
Mornay laughed outright. “Perhaps, but not for me. An idea has grown upon me, and now possesses me body and soul. It is that these papers are in the coat of Monsieur Ferraire.”
Cornbury sent out a sudden volume of smoke to signify his disgust.
82
