And when he was well away M. de Rondiniacque, forgetful alike of pious vow and petulant threat, seized Prudence in his arms and very heartily embraced her.
"By all my Huguenot ancestors!" he cried, kissing her vigorously to punctuate his oath, "but I do love thee, good wench." And 't is enough proof that she forgave him this breach of decorum that she said never a word of threat nor promise broken.
"Was it not purely done?" she said, pushing him away. "Now tell me what was writ in the paper. Pray Heaven you did read enough."
"All," replied M. de Rondiniacque. "But, though I put much faith in you, I know not yet what is your scheme, nor for what reason, if it be of use to us, you have returned to the Dutchman his lost paper."
"'T is as needful he should know what there is written as we, if it is as I guess," said Prue. "And that I cannot tell until you give me its purport."
"Somewhat in this way it ran, then," rejoined M. de Rondiniacque:
"'Father Francis, otherwise and at present known as "James Marston, of the City of Oxford," fat, short, red periwig, his own hair tonsured——'"
Prue's head had so far nodded to each particular, but at this she checked her pretty chin in mid-air. "Tonsured!" she cried; "and what is that?"
"Shaven so," he replied, describing with his finger a ring upon the top of his head. "There is much more in the paper, however."
"You have told me enough," said Prue, much elated. "Come with me, and I will show you the man."