He ran a critical eye over his physical points. "What is your name?" he asked.
Andre-Louis hesitated a moment. "Andre-Louis," he said.
The dark, keen eyes conned him more searchingly.
"Well? Andre-Louis what?"
"Just Andre-Louis. Louis is my surname."
"Oh! An odd surname. You come from Brittany by your accent. Why did you leave it?"
"To save my skin," he answered, without reflecting. And then made haste to cover the blunder. "I have an enemy," he explained.
M. des Amis frowned, stroking his square chin. "You ran away?"
"You may say so.
"A coward, eh?"
"I don't think so." And then he lied romantically. Surely a man who lived by the sword should have a weakness for the romantic. "You see, my enemy is a swordsman of great strength-the best blade in the province, if not the best blade in France.
Похожие новости:
In spite of it
In that I have
For in the past
I had thought of
le Marquis Denounce me
Who shall say how
He was destitute His
But densely packed under
I should advise you
There are some who
You must not go
Let this miserable affair
A peasant of Gavrillac
There is joy in
You have changed a
But even in silver
It is open war
Some openly condemned his
You relieve me of
He thrust his arm
Thus face to face
These insolent nobles defying
That he should thus
This because Benoit M
You haven t heard
|