“In my service, Duke,” said the Queen softly.
“Pardon, Your Majesty. That is sufficient. Proceed, Monsieur.”
“I fell in love with your granddaughter.”
“How dared you, sir; a beggarly——?”
“Monsieur Burnham’s patrimony includes rich land enough to make a county in France,” deftly put in Dr. Franklin at this juncture.
“But in America—” said the Duke scornfully.
“The finest land the sun ever set on, Monsieur,” broke in Commodore Jones hotly.
The King waved his hand for silence, and the Duke turned to me again.
“I sought your granddaughter far and wide, and at last found her at the Hôtel de Rivau-Huet.”
I had a hard task to keep to the truth and yet make a satisfactory story.