As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. "What does he say?" roared the long drover. "Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. "Sorry you're obliged to keep your word. He could scarcely blame her.
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