“True; true, indeed,” he replied, with a sigh.
Used as I was to the complex nature of my friend, I could not help thinking that this was indeed a sentimental mood for one who was about to undertake as mad and desperate an enterprise as ever patriot devised.
“To-morrow morning I shall not be available,” he told me as he left; “but after that—the King!”
“You do not, then, prepare my dinner to-morrow morning?”
“No, monsieur, not in the morning.”
By that night I had made the few preparations that were necessary before striking my tent and leaving England, perhaps forever. The next day found me idle and restless, and suddenly I said to myself:
“The most embarrassing part of this wild enterprise is being thrown upon me. I want a friend by my side, and if the Marquis de la Carrabasse objects, let the devil take him!”
Ah, if I could have summoned Dick Shafthead!
But, having undertaken not to do this, I selected that excellent sportsman, his cousin Teddy Lumme. His courage I had proved, his wisdom I felt sure was not sufficient to deter him from mixing himself up with the business, and as for any harm coming to him, I promised myself to see that he did not accompany me too far.
I went to him, and having sworn him to secrecy, I told him of the dinner, he, of course, knew that his father, the venerable bishop, was to be of the party, and when he heard the part that the guests were afterwards expected to play you should have seen his face.