Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 207: what you’re looking at

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

200 THE ARGOSY. “Monsieur de Villiers?’ repeated Jean Daron with peculiar emphasis, ‘“ Monsieur de Villiers? ” } “To be sure!” replied Cottrell sharply. “My employer, Monsieur de Villiers!” : The man gave a queer, gurgling noise deep down in-his throat, as though he were choking, and as Cottrell glanced sideways at him he caught a glimpse of white teeth displayed in a grin. The young American felt a bit nettled. * I believe I] have not been misinformed as to my employer's name; it is de Villiers, is it not?” “ Aye, it’s de Villiers right enough,” rejoined the other, his fat sides shak- ing with suppressed laughter. ‘“ Out, monsieur; you will see h—him to- night ! ”’ After this they lapsed into silence, broken only. by an occasional deep chuckle from Daron, who seemed to be enjoying some joke hugely. Cottrell began to feel more curious than ever regarding the identity of de Villiers, and he would have liked to put some leading questions to his com- panion, but he did not wish to reveal his curiosity to one who was evidently only a servant. Already his adventure with the lieutenant had passed out of his thoughts. Little did he know what an important influence it would have on his life. A twinkling light ahead told him they were approaching some habitation. A moment later the cart drew up before a small one storied thatched cottage such as is usually occupied by the French peasantry. ‘We get out here!” said Daron in a quiet voice. And when they had clambered down and the horse had been tethered to a tree, Jean led the way into the cottage. Cottrell found himself in a small, barren room, illumined by a dim, flicker- ing oil lamp. “ Be seated, monsieur,” said the rotund little fellow courteously, “and I will go and fetch Monsieur de Villiers!” and with that he went out, softly chuckling to himself. Ten—twenty—thirty ninutes, and still poor Cottrell sat there alone. He was beginning to grow weary of all this mystery. What was there about his unknown employer that made him resort to so much secrecy and subterfuge? As though in answer to this unspoken question, there came the faint sound of feet on the gravel path without, and Daron reéntered, followed by a slight figure, completely muffled in outer wraps. The outer door was shut and locked, and then Daron, turning deferentially to the enveloped figure, said in a low voice: “ It is all safe! ”’ The wraps were thrown aside and revealed to the astonished gaze of Cot- trell the face and figure of a beautiful girl. She was very pale, and there was a sad, almost despairing look in her eyes that somehow went straight to his heart. When she spoke it was in a low, sweet voice, and her manner was one of quiet dignity. “You are Monsieur Henri Cottrell, I believe!”’ She uttered his name with a pretty accent of her own that somehow gave a new meaning to it. He bowed assent, and she gazed at him steadily for a moment with an GONG OOO UN ceo