“Magnificently, Sire!” says the other chap.
“Our passages taken?”
“Ay, and private cabins paid for to boot, in case of the storm’s inclemency.”
The Prince nodded and seemed pleased; then he asked anxiously,
“The Bird? You have been to Jamrach’s?”
“Pardon me, Sire,” says the man who was waiting to be shaved, “I can slip from your jesses no mercenary eagle. These limbs have yet the pith to climb and this heart the daring to venture to the airiest crag of Monte d’Oro, and I have ravished from his eyrie a true Corsican eagle to be the omen of our expedition. Wherever this eagle is your uncle’s legions will gather together.”
“’Tis well; and the gold?”
“Trust Monte Cristo!” says the bearded man; and then, David, begad! I knew I had them!
“We meet?”
“At Folkestone pier, 7.45, tidal train.”