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"That's a heavy bill for two days in the country, sir."

"Faith, too heavy for me. And if ye'd bring me a brandy-and-soda, I'd be the better for it. I've to ride with madame this morning."

I brought him the spirit, and when he had drunk it he seemed more himself.

"Hildebrand," said he, getting up suddenly off the bed, "’tis a beautiful air to breathe, but too strong for me. I think we'd do better in Paris."

"I'm sure of it, sir," said I, glad to hear him talk like that.

"But better or worse, I'll be staying a while yet," said he, after a minute; "there's business that keeps me, and, bedad! 'tis pleasant business too."

I knew what he meant, and there was no need to talk to me in this way. The business that kept him at the château was madame's pretty face. He followed it everywhere, riding with her in the morning, taking tea with her in the arbor by the lake in the afternoon, turning over her music at night, looking into her eyes whenever they met as if he could have eaten her. And all the time she was the wife of another man—and more than that, was as deep down in roguery as any scoundrel out of Newgate. I write that she was deep down in roguery, but that is to get ahead in my story. You want to know, naturally, how I found that out, and I will tell you in a few words. It was the second day after I had seen the strange thing in the woods—a day when I was beginning to say that