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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"Count Hannibal A Romance of the Court of France"


Tignonville, on the other hand, turned sharply away, and with haggard
eyes stared about the room. "We might defend the staircase," he
muttered. "Two men might hold it for a time."
"We have no food."
"No." Suddenly he gripped La Tribe's arm. "I have it!" he cried. "And
it may do! It must do!" he continued, his face working. "See!" And
lifting from the floor one of the ragged pallets, from which the straw
protruded in a dozen places, he set it flat on his head.
It drooped at each corner--it had seen much wear--and, while it almost
hid his face, it revealed his grimy chin and mortar-stained shoulders. He
turned to his companion.
La Tribe's face glowed as he looked. "It may do!" he cried. "It's a
chance! But you are right! It may do!"
Tignonville dropped the ragged mattress, and tore off his coat; then he
rent his breeches at the knee, so that they hung loose about his calves.
"Do you the same!" he cried. "And quick, man, quick! Leave your boots!
Once outside we must pass through the streets under these"--he took up
his burden again and set it on his head--"until we reach a quiet part,
and there we--"
"Can hide! Or swim the river!" the minister said. He had followed his
companion's example, and now stood under a similar burden. With breeches
rent and whitened, and his upper garments in no better case, he looked a
sorry figure.


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