THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
"They are coming," I said. "Yes, I intend to keep the paper."
"Indeed?" said my father. "Perhaps you will explain how, my son. I have had an active evening, but you—I confess you go quite ahead of me."
"Because," I said, "you are not anxious to go back to France, father, and you are almost on your way there."
"No, not to France," he answered, and I knew he saw my meaning.
"And yet they are coming to take you. If you so much as offer to touch me again, I shall call them, father, and we shall go back together. Your horse is tired. He cannot go much further."
He was silent for a moment, and I prudently stepped back.
"You might shoot me, of course," I added, "but a pistol shot would be equally good. Listen! I can hear them on the road."
But oddly enough, he was not disturbed.
"On the road, to be sure," said my father. "You are right, Henry, you may keep the paper. But tell me one thing more. Was there no one here when you arrived?"
"There was," I said, "but I sent him away—to our house, father."
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