Dump popped his head into the cage. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. Their flitting hands were always touching. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. ” “Mr.
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