[Illustration: Gazing steadfastly into the glass.]
CHAPTER XXX
THE TURNCOAT
It was late in the sunlit afternoon when there rode into the head
of the street of old St. Genevieve a weary and mud-stained
horseman, who presently dismounted at the hitching rail in front of
the little inn which he favored with his company. He was a tall
man who, as he turned down the street, walked with just the
slightest trace of a limp.
This traveler did not turn into the inn, did not pause, indeed, at
any of the points of greater interest, but sought out the little
cooper shop of Hector Fournier. That worthy greeted him, wiping
his hands upon his leathern apron.
"Eh, bien, then, it is Monsieur Dunwodee! Come in! Come in! I'll
been glad for see you. There was those talk you'll would not came."
"Yes, I have come, Hector," said Dunwody, "and naturally, I have
come to see you first. You are one of the few political allies
that I have left. At least, if you don't believe the way I do, you
are generous enough to listen!"
"But, Monsieur, believe me, the situation here is difficult.
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