“The manifesto, my friend—quick! It must be retained in my care till it is printed!”
Florian woke up from a brown study, and looked vacantly around.
“It is still in Sir George’s hands,” said he. “I believe I have asked him for it more than once, but I could not get it back.”
“In Sir George’s hands!” repeated the Abbé, almost losing patience, “and without Sir George’s signature! Do you know what you are saying? Florian, listen, man, and look up. Are you awake?”
The other passed his hand wearily across his brow.
“I have slept little of late,” was all he answered. “It is as I tell you.”
Even Captain Bold could not but admire the Abbé’s self-control, that kept down the impatience naturally resulting from such a confession, so composedly announced. He mused for a moment with his peculiar smile, and observed, quietly—
“You travel to London to-night, I believe, and you travel together?”
Florian only bowed his head in reply.