“I’ll not be getting you in any trouble if you don’t get into it yourself.”
“Of course, Diggory,” continued Bess, in a wheedling voice. “You’ll not turn me in the street this time of night. Sure, you’ll let me sleep in a cell, without telling anybody, and if you will agree to let me stay I’ll tell you what I came for.”
“In course,” replied Diggory, still very much puzzled. Not having seen Bess during the period of her metamorphosis, he was naturally the more struck with the change. She was so exquisitely handsome, and so well dressed, and in addition to her old good-naturedly hectoring way, she had a subtle note of command in her voice, and a pleasant look of authority in her eye. Diggory was at a loss to know what had turned Bess Lukens into this dazzling creature.
“You must know, my good Diggory,” said Bess, in a condescending tone, “that I have been in France these last seven years, and I have spoke so much French that if I fall into it now and then, you’ll not be surprised. I am one of the singers at the King’s Opera in Paris.”
“I remembers,” said Diggory, “thou wert always a-singing and a-trilling. You always made a mighty noise.”
Bess smiled with the air of a gracious princess on Diggory. “Singing is well paid, my good lad, if one can sing well enough.”
“Are you married, Bess?” asked Diggory, after a pause.
“No, and I have no mind to be. There is enough trouble in this life to give everybody a plenty, and I don’t want to increase my share of it by marrying. But if I could ever marry anybody, it would be an Englishman. I love the French en masse, that means the whole of ’em, but I am not for marrying any one of ’em.”
Diggory took this as a personal compliment, and grinned, and then Bess, abruptly turning the conversation, said, “And when is Mr. Dicky Egremont to be tried?”
“He don’t need to be tried no more,” calmly replied Diggory. “He were tried and convicted once, and that’s enough. He were resentenced day before yesterday, and he is to be hanged to-morrow morning, by six of the clock.”