It's getting into my
bones."
This was, I fancy, only his way of excusing to me the nip of brandy he
was pouring out.
"That's better!" he said, putting down the empty glass. "I have something
to thank France for after all." He laughed at his own poor joke, but there
was no ring of merriment in his laughter, and added, "Now for what my
runaway general has to say."
He read the letter impatiently and sneeringly. "I suppose Mr. Secretary
must write something back," was his comment. "It doesn't matter much what,
since we're running away as fast as our legs can carry us. Any fool, or
rogue, or Murray can run away."
He paced up and down the room with long angry strides, muttering words I
did not understand. Suddenly he stopped, and turned on me with the
smiling, princely face of the greater Charles I knew and liked.
"Curse me for an ingrate! I am heartily obliged to you, Captain Wheatman,
for your pains. My lord speaks of you in high terms of praise. And I must
not keep you. Murray must have his answer. Come with me, and Mr. Secretary
shall take it down while I have my breakfast."
I followed him out and along a passage with doors on either side, outside
one of which stood a servant or sentry, who had eyed me furtively on my
coming inward.
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