"Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet. .
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