"Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. If only to say goodbye. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade.
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