D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 137: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

126 Darby and Joan. “No, no, of course you would not hire the house to entertain even that Jew! Did he mention no other name —say, Soleiman ?” | “T think,” returned Donna Jacinta, trying to give com- fort, “before he went out into the stormburst he called upon Father Soleiman!”’ “It is my man!” cried the Frenchman, only momen- tarily glad, however, as he looked around. “It was no weather to drive even a dog—of a Jew—so very far!” Jacinta blushed. It was probably the first time that she had been rebuked by any man, and surely for what in her prejudice she esteemed insufficient cause—for a wastrel ! To the duchess’ surprise she replied not at all tartly but subduedly, if anything: “As I had purchased the houseroom and I did not de- sire to take in guests but of my own selection, he rode away on his mule, as I have heard.” “The dolt! We twain are then playing the parts of those figures in the Dutch toyhouses, the Darby who comes out when the wind blows and the Joan who comes out when the sun shines! He will have been blown over the cliffs or drowned in a sudden torrent—that is what has become of him. Oh, indeed, we know not whom we turn from our doors! Why, I would as lief that waif were captured by the Spaniards! Yet, judging by my late experience, it is harder to pluck a man out of the jaws of a Biscayan nor’wester than from the Spanish!” He ground his teeth, thinking of the untowardness of it, that they should thrust out the bearer of the funds on which hung all they prayed to be benefited with. “You seem moved. Did you know this one?” asked Jacinta, still astonishing her mistress by a sympathy with this stranger, quite unaccountable. D’Artagnan was verifying his expectation that his writ- ing on the doorpost was still attached. “Oh,” went on the young lady, following his glance, “have we the honor to address the Caballero de Gan- narta?” “Exactly!” said he, proudly. “At your service, Lady of Floriador, and of yours, Duchess of Braganza.” “Oh, do you know my lady?’ Eomichooksreom