And I? Mon Dieu, my friend! If he succeed, my decree of
banishment from Paris--it will be to revoke. I may return once more to
bask in the smile of my king. You must not speak; the lady must not
speak; I must not speak when Monsieur l'Abbe comes, nor before. It is to
silence. Stone walls have one ear."
"Two, sometimes, count," I suggested, laughing.
"Yes, I should have said one ears! Non, non! I forget this damnable
tongue of yours! When I arrive to great interest, it is to talk faster
than it is to think, and--" A shrug of the shoulders finished the
sentence.
"Let us speak French hereafter, my dear count," I suggested.
"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! It is to me more of pain to hear my sweet language
murdered than to murder yours," answered Grammont, seriously.
"Ah, but I speak French quite as well as I speak English. Perhaps I shall
not murder it," I replied.
"Perhaps? We shall try," he said, though with little show of faith.
I began speaking French, but when I paused for his verdict, he shrugged
his shoulders, saying:--
"Ah, _oui, oui!_ It may be better than my English." But notwithstanding
his scant praise, we spoke the French language thereafter.
The count bowed himself out and left me to decipher, if I could, the
problem of M. l'Abbe du Boise. Presently I discovered the cue. The
Abbe was George Hamilton, and for the moment my heart almost stopped
beating. If he should come to England on the French king's business,
which could be nothing more nor less than the Dunkirk affair, and
should be discovered, there would be a public entertainment on Tyburn
Hill, with George as the central figure.
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