They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. " "Without further fee?" inquired the knight. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs.
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