He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. ‘But a spy I am not. It is necessary. Glad you're home safe. Go away now, there’s a good lad. This fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands.
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