“I’ll beg her pardon.”
“Vell. Den you must yoost peg my bardon,” said Jan.
“Yours. Sacré! I will never do that, at any rate,” roared Jules.
“Goot! Den shtay vere you pe. I don’t vant to let you co.”
“I’ll do any thing you ask.”
Jan went away and was gone for a few moments. Then he came back and set the Frenchman at liberty. He at once hurried to the place where he had left his arms. They were nowhere to be found, and Jan, a perfect arsenal of pistols and knives, was pacing up and down near by, talking with Millicent.
“Where are my arms?” roared Jules.
“Arms? Vy, dere dey pe, py your sides, hanging vrom your shoulters. Vere else vould dey pe?”
“Where is my rifle, you scoundrel?”
“Your rifle. Oh, vy didn’t you ask vor it? I pees ’vraid he gets preak, so I puts him avay.”