“Then ye didn’t git it?” said the old salt coolly.
“Get it? Of course, I got it. It’s in my waistcoat, over my heart.”
“You’ll give it to the Markis?”
“Never! I’ll keep it until the day of my death.”
“That’s likely to be pretty soon, yer honor, if wot ye say is true.”
“I can’t help that. I wouldn’t give it to that lying hound to purchase my life. When I die I wish it buried with me.”
And then I told him squarely what a scoundrel the Marquis was and how he had befooled me about Mademoiselle’s desires.
“Wot are ye goin’ to do, ef I might ax yer honor?”
“I’m going to du Trémigon and tell him I refuse to do his bidding and let him do his worst.”