"Well, my son, I
am positive that you have been accused somewhat hastily, but
that's the way women have, jumping at conclusions before they
read the preface. But you must give Madame credit for being
honest in the matter, as well as the others. Beauvais is
positive that the move of the archbishop is due to your selling
out to him. Come, tell me the story. If you wish, I'll promise
not to repeat it. Madame is determined to lock you up in any
event."
There was something so likable about the old warrior that
Maurice relented.
"There was nothing in the gun-barrels," he said. "Some one had
entered that room before me. I thought at first that Beauvais
had them; but he is the last man in the world to dispose of them
to the prelate. But has the archbishop got them? I wish I knew.
That's all there is to the story."
"And her Royal Highness's dog?" slyly.
"What! Did you hear about that?" Maurice flushed.
"There is little going on in Bleiberg that we don't hear about.
The princess is charming. Poor girl!"
"Madame's victory will have a strange odor. Can she not let the
king die in peace?"
"My son, she dares not.
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