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 Florian woke up from a brown study, and looked vacantly around.

"It is still in Sir George's hands," said he. "I believe I have asked him for it more than once, but I could not get it back."

"In Sir George's hands!" repeated the Abbé, almost losing patience, "and without Sir George's signature! Do you know what you are saying? Florian, listen, man, and look up. Are you awake?"

The other passed his hand wearily across his brow.

"I have slept little of late," was all he answered. "It is as I tell you."

Even Captain Bold could not but admire the Abbé's self-control, that kept down the impatience naturally resulting from such a confession, so composedly announced. He mused for a moment with his peculiar smile, and observed, quietly—

"You travel to London to-night, I believe, and you travel together?"

Florian only bowed his head in reply.

"I wish you a pleasant journey," continued the Abbé. "Had you not better go now and make the necessary preparations?"

Then, as soon as the door closed on Florian, who walked out dejectedly, without another word, he grasped Captain Bold's arm, and laughed a low, mocking laugh.

"Business increases, captain," said he. "Yours is a trade sure to thrive, for its occasions come up fresh every day. Did you hear that Sir George Hamilton possesses a paper I require? and that he proceeds to London to-night?"

"I heard it," answered the captain, doggedly.

He, too, knew something of Sir George, and did not much relish the job which he began to suspect was provided for him.

"That paper must be in my hands before daybreak," continued the Abbé, speaking in such low, distinct accents, as his emissary had already learned admitted of no appeal. "You will name your own price, Captain Bold, and you will bring me what I require—as little blood on it as possible—at least two hours before dawn."