THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
out further ado to the house in search of aid. Monsieur Mornay alone stood erect. As Cornbury rose to his feet the Frenchman asked:
“Well?”
“Clear through. There’s a hole on both sides. Ye must be off. They will be here presently.”
“And you?”
“I’ll stay. I can serve ye better here”; and as Mornay paused, “Come, there’s no time to be lost.” He caught up the Frenchman’s coat, hat, and periwig, and hurried down the garden towards the gate. Mornay cast a glance at the figure upon the ground and followed.
“I mistrust Ferrers,” whispered Cornbury. “If he will but tell a dacent story, his grace may hush the matter. If not—”
“Eh bien—I care not—”
“If not, ’tis a case for the constables, perhaps of the prison; ’tis difficult to say—a plea of chance-medley—a petition to the King—”
Mornay tossed his head impatiently as he replied:
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