“Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. "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. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her.
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