"But it did not happen," said M. Beaucaire.
"It could not!" exclaimed Francois.
"No. And you did very well, my children--" the young man smiled
benevolently--"very well. And now," he continued, turning to Lady Mary
and speaking in English, "let me be asking of our gallants yonder what
make' them to be in cabal with highwaymen. One should come to a polite
understanding with them, you think? Not so?"
He bowed, offering his hand to conduct her to the coach, where Molyneux
and his companions, having drawn Sir Hugh from under his horse, were
engaged in reviving and reassuring Lady Rellerton, who had fainted. But
Lady Mary stayed Beaucaire with a gesture, and the two stood where they
were.
"Monseigneur!" she said, with a note of raillery in her voice, but
raillery so tender that he started with happiness. His movement brought
him a hot spasm of pain, and he clapped his hand to a red stain on his
waistcoat.
"You are hurt!"
"It is nothing," smiled M. Beaucaire. Then, that she might not see
the stain spreading, he held his handkerchief over the spot. "I am a
little--but jus' a trifling--bruise'; 'tis all."
"You shall ride in the coach," she whispered. "Will you be pleased, M.
de Chateaurien?"
"Ah, my beautiful!" She seemed to wave before him like a shining
mist. "I wish that ride might las' for always! Can you say that,
mademoiselle?"
"Monseigneur," she cried in a passion of admiration, "I would what you
would have be, should be.
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