“What deviltry have you been up to, Davy?” he demanded.
“I have been to the House of the Lions to see your divinity,” I answered, “and in a very little while horses will be here to carry us to her.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, grasping me by both shoulders.
“I mean that we are going to her father's plantation, some way down the river.”
“On my honor, Davy, I did not suspect you of so much enterprise,” he cried. “And her husband—?”
“Does not exist,” I replied. “Perhaps, after all, I might be able to give you instruction in the conduct of an adventure. The man you chased with such futility was her brother, and he stole from her the miniature of which I am now the fortunate possessor.”
He stared at me for a moment in rueful amazement.
“And her name?” he demanded.
“Antoinette de Saint-Gré,” I answered; “our letter is to her father.”
He made me a rueful bow.