CHAPTER LVIII
HORNS AND HOOFS
"There is nothing but the Declaration to be provided for
now," observed Malletort, after a pause. "You had
better give it me back, Florian, even without Sir George's
name subscribed. He is a man of mettle, and will be in
the saddle as soon as he hears steel and stirrup ring."
Although the Abbé did not fail to observe how strange an alteration had to-day come over his young friend's manner, he simply attributed it to the qualms of conscience which are often so embarrassing to beginners in the science of deception, but which, as far as his own experience served him, he had found invariably disappeared with a little practice. He never doubted that Florian was equally interested with himself in the success of their undertaking, though for different reasons. He attributed it to nervousness, anxiety, and a foolish hankering after Lady Hamilton, the wildness of the young priest's dark eye—the fixed spot of colour in his cheek, lately so pale and wan—the resolute expression of his feminine mouth, denoting some desperate intention—and the general air of abstraction that showed as well unconsciousness of the present as recklessness of the future into which he seemed to project his whole being. The Abbé simply expected that Florian would place his hand in his bosom and bring out the roll of paper required. He was surprised, therefore, to receive no answer; and repeated, hastily, for he had still a press of business to get through—
"The manifesto, my friend—quick! It must be retained in my care till it is printed!"
