"Mr. Bayne!"
It was Miss Falconer's voice. I rose reluctantly and obeyed the summons.
The Firefly was sitting propped on the chest, white, but steadier, while
Esme still knelt beside him, holding his hand in hers.
"I have been telling Jean, Mr. Bayne, how you have helped us." The
radiance of her face, the lilt of her voice, stabbed me with a jealous
pang. I wanted to see her happy, Heaven knew, but not quite in this
manner. "And he wants to thank you for all that you have done."
The Duke of Raincy-la-Tour spoke to me in English that was correct, but
quaintly formal, of a decided charm.
"Monsieur," he said, "I offer you my gratitude. And if you will
touch the hand of one concerning whom, I fear, very evil things are
believed--"
I forced a smile and a hearty pressure.
"I'll risk it," I assured him. "The chain of evidence against you seemed
far-fetched to say the least. They pointed out accusingly that your
father and your grandfather had been royalists, and that therefore--"
He made a gesture.
"May their souls find repose! Monsieur, it is true that they were.
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