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"Obtaining a diamond in London," said he; "but there's a dozen others. He's a bad one right through, is the Comte de Faugère."

I said that he must be, and then we both quickened up a bit.

"I'll be coming over here after Nicky Steele, by and by, I fancy," he remarked pleasantly, when we had covered a mile or more.

"Ah," said I, "it will want a sharp man for that job!"

"I won't deny it," cried he; "the way that chap keeps outside the law is a crusher. Here's a health to him!"

He had pulled a silver flask out of his pocket as he spoke, and raised it to his lips. Then he passed it over to me.

"Brandy, mate," said he; "you can't do better in the raw of the morning."

I took a good nip, for the day was bitter cold, and gave him back his flask. But I had not walked on ten yards when I found myself reeling like a drunken man—and then I fell heavily, with him bending over me.

One night, some ten days after I fell down insensible on the road to Brest, Sir Nicolas and I were talking in my bedroom in the village of Folgoet of Mme. Pauline and her château. I was still weak and bruised and unable to leave my bed, and he had come up to say good-night to me.