“True,” said the Duke, “but I think I cannot miss finding him; and you, Master Chiffinch, are no officer, and have no warrant either to detain me prisoner, or prevent my speaking to whom I please.”
Chiffinch replied, “My Lord Duke, your genius is so great, and your escapes so numerous, that it will be from no wish of my own if I am forced to hurt a man so skilful and so popular.”
“Nay, then, there is life in it yet,” said the Duke, and whistled; when, from beside the little cutler’s booth, with which the reader is acquainted, appeared, suddenly, Master Christian, and was in a moment at the side of the coach. “Ganz ist verloren,” said the Duke.
“I know it,” said Christian; “and all our godly friends are dispersed upon the news. Luckily the Colonel and these German rascals gave a hint. All is safe—You go to Court—Hark ye, I will follow.”
“You, Christian? that would be more friendly than wise.”
“Why, what is there against me?” said Christian. “I am innocent as the child unborn—so is your Grace. There is but one creature who can bear witness to our guilt; but I trust to bring her on the stage in our favour—besides, if I were not, I should presently be sent for.”
“The familiar of whom I have heard you speak, I warrant?”
“Hark in your ear again.”
“I understand,” said the Duke, “and will delay Master Chiffinch,—for he, you must know, is my conductor,—no longer.—Well, Chiffinch, let them drive on.—Vogue la Galère!” he exclaimed, as the carriage went onward; “I have sailed through worse perils than this yet.”
“It is not for me to judge,” said Chiffinch; “your Grace is a bold commander; and Christian hath the cunning of the devil for a pilot; but——However, I remain your Grace’s poor friend, and will heartily rejoice in your extrication.”