Keys had
rolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Breton
scrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recovered
these treasures, which he knew to be all his master had. He thought of
the elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he had
ordered for his master but four months gone. And that mysterious lady
of high degree? Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton,
was like to see it never again.
He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the grey
cloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk.
"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to you
for help?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts. "So it was
you?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely.
The bruise on his forehead made him savage. "Whatever made me bring
you to the Corne d'Abondance? What could you not tell, if voice were
given to you? And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You make
me cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up by
the torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp.
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