Was there ever a more unprincipled Bard? It is sad to relate that the Artist echoed his brother.
"We will, Cornelius—we will. Vive la liberté!" He snapped his fingers, and began to sing:
"Quand on est a Paris
On ecrit a son pere,
Qui fait reponse, 'Brigand,
Tu n'en as——'"
He broke short off, and clapped his hands like a school-boy. "We will go to Paris next week, brother."
"We will, Humphrey, if we can get any more money. And now—how to get out of the mess?"
"Do you think Mrs. L'Estrange will interfere?"
"Or Colquhoun?"