The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. I should have gone mad without it. \" Lucy replied. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. " CHAPTER XIV.
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