Datasets:

AIRI-NLP

/

quality_counter_new_5120

like 0

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

pretence

How many times the word 'pretence' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

album

How many times the word 'album' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

fingers

How many times the word 'fingers' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

snapping

How many times the word 'snapping' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

boulevard

How many times the word 'boulevard' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

sizes

How many times the word 'sizes' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

guillotine

How many times the word 'guillotine' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

understand

How many times the word 'understand' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

soil

How many times the word 'soil' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

smaller

How many times the word 'smaller' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

duc

How many times the word 'duc' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

strange

How many times the word 'strange' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

iv

How many times the word 'iv' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

bourgeois

How many times the word 'bourgeois' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

crazy

How many times the word 'crazy' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

rapid

How many times the word 'rapid' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

portent

How many times the word 'portent' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

volvo

How many times the word 'volvo' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

hours

How many times the word 'hours' appears in the text?

"is full up to his eyes with the prejudices and arrogance of his caste. It is men of his type--and not Marat or Robespierre--who made the revolution, who goaded the people of France into becoming something worse than man-devouring beasts. And, mind you, twenty years of exile did not sober them, nor did contact with democratic thought in England and America teach them the most elementary lessons of commonsense. If the Emperor had not come back to-day, we should be once more working up for revolution--more terrible this time, more bloody and vengeful, if possible, than the last." Then as Clyffurde made no comment on this peroration, the younger man resumed more lightly: "And--knowing the Comte de Cambray's prejudices as I do, imagine my surprise--after I had met you in his house as an honoured guest and on what appeared to be intimate terms of friendship--to learn that you . . . in fact . . ." "That I was nothing more than a shopkeeper," broke in Clyffurde with a short laugh, "nothing better than our mutual friend M. Dumoulin, glovemaker, of Grenoble--a highly worthy man whom M. le Comte de Cambray esteems somewhat lower than his butler. It certainly must have surprised you very much." "Well, you know, old de Cambray has a horror of anything that pertains to trade, and an avowed contempt for everything that he calls 'bourgeois.'" "There's no doubt about that," assented Clyffurde fervently. "Perhaps he does not know of your connection with . . ." "Gloves?" "With business people in Grenoble generally." "Oh, yes, he does!" replied the Englishman quietly. "Well, then?" queried de Marmont. Then as his friend sat there silent with that quiet, good-humoured smile lingering round his lips, he added apologetically: "Perhaps I am indiscreet . . . but I never could understand it . . . and you English are so reserved . . ." "That I never told you how M. le Comte de Cambray, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Grand Cross of the Order du Lys, Hereditary Grand Chamberlain of France, etc., etc., came to sit at the same table as a vendor and buyer of gloves," said Clyffurde gaily. "There's no secret about it. I owe the Comte's exalted condescension to certain letters of recommendation which he could not very well disregard." "Oh! as to that . . ." quoth de Marmont with a shrug of the shoulders, "people like the de Cambrays have their own codes of courtesy and of friendship." "In this case, my good de Marmont, it was the code of ordinary gratitude that imposed its dictum even upon the autocratic and aristocratic Comte de Cambray." "Gratitude?" sneered de Marmont, "in a de Cambray?" "M. le Comte de Cambray," said Clyffurde with slow emphasis, "his mother, his sister, his brother-in-law and two of their faithful servants, were rescued from the very foot of the guillotine by a band of heroes--known in those days as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." "I knew that!" said de Marmont quietly. "Then perhaps you also knew that their leader was Sir Percy Blakeney--a prince among gallant English gentlemen and my dead father's friend. When my business affairs sent me to Grenoble, Sir Percy warmly recommended me to the man whose life he had saved. What could M. le Comte de Cambray do but receive me as a friend? You see, my credentials were exceptional and unimpeachable." "Of course," assented de Marmont, "now I understand. But you will admit that I have had grounds for surprise. You--who were the friend of Dumoulin, a tradesman, and avowed Bonapartist--two unpardonable crimes in the eyes of M. le Comte de Cambray," he added with a return to his former bitterness, "you to be seated at his table and to shake him by the hand. Why, man! if he knew that I have remained faithful to the Emperor . . ." He paused abruptly, and his somewhat full, sensitive lips were pressed tightly together as if to suppress an insistent outburst of passion. But Clyffurde frowned, and when he turned away from de Marmont it was in order to hide a harsh look of contempt. "Surely," he said, "you have never led the Comte to suppose that you are a royalist!" "I have never led him to suppose anything. But he has taken my political convictions for granted," rejoined de Marmont. Then suddenly a look of bitter resentment darkened his face, making it appear hard and lined and considerably older. "My uncle, Marshal de Marmont, Duc de Raguse, was an abominable traitor," he went on with ill-repressed vehemence. "He betrayed his Emperor, his benefactor and his friend. It was the vilest treachery that has ever disgraced an honourable name. Paris could have held out easily for another four and twenty hours, and by that time the Emperor would have been back. But de Marmont gave her over wilfully, scurvily to the allies. But for his abominable act of cowardice the Emperor never would have had to endure the shame of his temporary exile at Elba, and Louis de Bourbon would never have had the chance of wallowing for twelve months upon the throne of France. But that which is a source of irreparable shame to me is a virtue in the eyes of all these royalists. De Marmont's treachery against the Emperor has placed all his kindred in the forefront of those who now lick the boots of that infamous Bourbon dynasty, and it did not suit the plans of the Bonapartist party that we--in the provinces--should proclaim our faith too openly until such time as the Emperor returned." "And if the Comte de Cambray had known that you are just an ardent Bonapartist? . . ." suggested Clyffurde calmly. "He would long before now have had me kicked out by his lacqueys," broke in de Marmont with ever-increasing bitterness as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, while his dark eyes glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment. "For men like de Cambray there is only one caste--the _noblesse_, one religion--the Catholic, one creed--adherence to the Bourbons. All else is scum, trash, beneath contempt, hardly human! Oh! if you knew how I loathe these people!" he continued, speaking volubly and in a voice shaking with suppressed excitement. "They have learnt nothing, these aristocrats, nothing, I tell you! the terrible reprisals of the revolution which culminated in that appalling Reign of Terror have taught them absolutely nothing! They have not learnt the great lesson of the revolution, that the people will no longer endure their arrogance and their pretensions, that the old regime is dead--dead! the regime of oppression and pride and intolerance! They have learnt nothing!" he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, "nothing! 'humanity begins with the _noblesse_' is still their watchword to-day as it was before the irate people sent hundreds of them to perish miserably on the guillotine--the rest of mankind, to them, is only cattle made to toil for the well-being of their class. Oh! I loathe them, I tell you! I loathe them from the bottom of my soul!" "And yet you and your kind are rapidly becoming at one with them," said Clyffurde, his quiet voice in strange contrast to the other man's violent agitation. "No, we are not," protested de Marmont emphatically. "The men whom Napoleon created marshals and peers of France have been openly snubbed at the Court of Louis XVIII. Ney, who is prince of Moskowa and next to Napoleon himself the greatest soldier of France, has seen his wife treated little better than a chambermaid by the Duchesse d'Angoul me and the ladies of the old _noblesse_. My uncle is marshal of France, and Duc de Raguse and I am the heir to his millions, but the Comte de Cambray will always consider it a mesalliance for his daughter to marry me." The note of bitter resentment, of wounded pride and smouldering hatred became more and more marked while he spoke: his voice now sounded hoarse and his throat seemed dry. Presently he raised his mug to his lips and drank eagerly, but his hand was shaking visibly as he did this, and some of the wine was spilled on the table. There was silence for a while outside the little inn, silence which seemed full of portent, for through the pure mountain air there was wafted the hot breath of men's passions--fierce, dominating, challenging. Love, hatred, prejudices and contempt--all were portrayed on de Marmont's mobile face: they glowed in his dark eyes and breathed through his quivering nostrils. Now he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, his nervy fingers played a tattoo against his teeth, clenched together like those of some young feline creature which sees its prey coming along and is snarling at the sight. Clyffurde, with those deep-set, earnest grey eyes of his, was silently watching his friend. His hand did not shake, nor did the breath come any quicker from his broad chest. Yet deep down behind the wide brow, behind those same overshadowed eyes, a keen observer would of a surety have detected the signs of a latent volcano of passions, all the more strong and virile as they were kept in perfect control. It was he who presently broke the silence, and his voice was quite steady when he spoke, though perhaps a trifle more toneless, more dead, than usual. "And," he said, "what of Mlle. Crystal in all this?" "Crystal?" queried the other curtly, "what about her?" "She is an ardent royalist, more strong in her convictions and her enthusiasms than women usually are." "And what of that?" rejoined de Marmont fiercely. "I love Crystal." "But when she learns that you . . ." "She shall not learn it," rejoined the other cynically. "We sign our marriage contract to-night: the wedding is fixed for Tuesday. Until then I can hold my peace." An exclamation of hot protest almost escaped the Englishman's lips: his hand which rested on the table became so tightly clenched that the hard knuckles looked as if they would burst through their fetters of sinew and skin, and he made no pretence at concealing the look of burning indignation which flashed from his eyes. "But man!" he exclaimed, "a deception such as you propose is cruel and monstrous. . . . In view, too, of what has occurred in the past few days . . . in view of what may happen if the news which we have heard is true . . ." "In view of all that, my friend," retorted de Marmont firmly, "the old regime has had its nine days of wonder and of splendour. The Emperor has come back! we, who believe in him, who have remained true to him in his humiliation and in his misfortunes may once more raise our heads and loudly proclaim our loyalty. The return of the Emperor will once more put his dukes and his marshals in their rightful place on a level with the highest nobility of France. The Comte de Cambray will realise that all his hopes of regaining his fortune through the favours of the Bourbons have by force of circumstances come to naught. Like most of the old _noblesse_ who emigrated he is without a sou. He may choose to look on me with contempt, but he will no longer desire to kick me out of his house, for he will be glad enough to see the Cambray 'scutcheon regilt with de Marmont gold." "But Mademoiselle Crystal?" insisted Clyffurde, almost appealingly, for his whole soul had revolted at the cynicism of the other man. "Crystal has listened to that ape, St. Genis," replied de Marmont drily, "one of her own caste . . . a marquis with sixteen quarterings to his family escutcheon and not a sou in his pockets. She is very young, and very inexperienced. She has seen nothing of the world as yet--nothing. She was born and brought up in exile--in England, in the midst of that narrow society formed by impecunious _ migr s_. . . ." "And shopkeeping Englishmen," murmured Clyffurde, under his breath. "She could never have married St. Genis," reiterated Victor de Marmont with deliberate emphasis. "The man hasn't a sou. Even Crystal realised from the first that nothing ever could have come of that boy and girl dallying. The Comte never would have consented. . . ." "Perhaps not. But she--Mademoiselle Crystal--would she ever have consented to marry you, if she had known what your convictions are?" "Crystal is only a child," said de Marmont with a light shrug of the shoulders. "She will learn to love me presently when St. Genis has disappeared out of her little world, and she will accept my convictions as she has accepted me, submissive to my will as she was to that of her father." Once more a hot protest of indignation rose to Clyffurde's lips, but this too he smothered resolutely. What was the use of protesting? Could he hope to change with a few arguments the whole cynical nature of a man? And what right had he even to interfere? The Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal were nothing to him: in their minds they would never look upon him even as an equal--let alone as a friend. So the bitter words died upon his lips. "And you have been content to win a wife on such terms!" was all that he said. "I have had to be content," was de Marmont's retort. "Crystal is the only woman I have ever cared for. She will love me in time, I doubt not, and her sense of duty will make her forget St. Genis quickly enough." Then as Clyffurde made no further comment silence fell once more between the two men. Perhaps even de Marmont felt that somehow, during the past few moments, the slender bond of friendship which similarity of tastes and a certain similarity of political ideals had forged between him and the stranger had been strained to snapping point, and this for a reason which he could not very well understand. He drank another draught of wine and gave a quick sigh of satisfaction with the world in general, and also with himself, for he did not feel that he had done or said anything which could offend the keenest susceptibilities of his friend. He looked with a sudden sense of astonishment at Clyffurde, as if he were only seeing him now for the first time. His keen dark eyes took in with a rapid glance the Englishman's powerful personality, the square shoulders, the head well erect, the strong Anglo-Saxon chin firmly set, the slender hands always in repose. In the whole attitude of the man there was an air of will-power which had never struck de Marmont quite so forcibly as it did now, and a virility which looked as ready to challenge Fate as it was able to conquer her if she proved adverse. And just now there was a curious look in those deep-set eyes--a look of contempt or of pity--de Marmont was not sure which, but somehow the look worried him and he would have given much to read the thoughts which were hidden behind the high, square brow. However, he asked no questions, and thus the silence remained unbroken for some time save for the soughing of the northeast wind as it whistled through the pines, whilst from the tiny chapel which held the shrine of Notre Dame de Vaulx came the sound of a soft-toned bell, ringing the midday Angelus. Just then round that same curve in the road, where the two riders had paused an hour ago in sight of the little hamlet, a man on horseback appeared, riding at a brisk trot up the rugged, stony path. Victor de Marmont woke from his r verie: "There's Emery," he cried. He jumped to his feet, then he picked up his hat from the table where he had laid it down, tossed it up into the air as high as it would go, and shouted with all his might: "Vive l'Empereur!" IV The man who now drew rein with abrupt clumsiness in front of the auberge looked hot, tired and travel-stained. His face was covered with sweat and his horse with lather, the lapel of his coat was torn, his breeches and boots were covered with half-frozen mud. But having brought his horse to a halt, he swung himself out of the saddle with the brisk air of a boy who has enjoyed his first ride across country. Surgeon-Captain Emery was a man well over forty, but to-day his eyes glowed with that concentrated fire which burns in the heart at twenty, and he shook de Marmont by the hand with a vigour which made the younger man wince with the pain of that iron grip. "My friend, Mr. Clyffurde, an English gentleman," said Victor de Marmont hastily in response to a quick look of suspicious enquiry which flashed out from under Emery's bushy eyebrows. "You can talk quite freely, Emery; and for God's sake tell us your news!" But Emery could hardly speak. He had been riding hard for the past three hours, his throat was parched, and through it his voice came up hoarse and raucous: nevertheless he at once began talking in short, jerky sentences. "He landed on Wednesday," he said. "I parted from him on Friday . . . at Castellane . . . you had my message?" "This morning early--we came at once." "I thought we could talk better here--first--but I was spent last night--I had to sleep at Corps . . . so I sent to you. . . . But now, in Heaven's name, give me something to drink. . . ." While he drank eagerly and greedily of the cold spiced wine which Clyffurde had served out to him, he still scrutinised the Englishman closely from under his frowning and bushy eyebrows. Clyffurde's winning glance, however, seemed to have conquered his mistrust, for presently, after he had put his mug down again, he stretched out a cordial hand to him. "Now that our Emperor is back with us," he said as if in apology for his former suspicions, "we, his friends, are bound to look askance at every Englishman we meet." "Of course you are," said Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile as he grasped Surgeon-Captain Emery's extended hand. "It is the hand of a friend I am grasping?" insisted Emery. "Of a personal friend, if you will call him so," replied Clyffurde. "Politically, I hardly count, you see. I am just a looker-on at the game." The surgeon-captain's keen eyes under their bushy brows shot a rapid glance at the tall, well-knit figure of the Englishman. "You are not a fighting man?" he queried, much amazed. "No," replied Clyffurde drily. "I am only a tradesman." "Your news, Emery, your news!" here broke in Victor de Marmont, who during the brief colloquy between his two friends had been hardly able to keep his excitement in check. Emery turned away from the other man in silence. Clearly there was something about that fine, noble-looking fellow--who proclaimed himself a tradesman while that splendid physique of his should be at his country's service--which still puzzled the worthy army surgeon. But he was primarily very thirsty and secondly as eager to impart his news as de Marmont was to hear it, so now without wasting any further words on less important matter he sat down close to the table and stretched his short, thick legs out before him. "My news is of the best," he said with lusty fervour. "We left Porto Ferrajo on Sunday last but only landed on Wednesday, as I told you, for we were severely becalmed in the Mediterranean. We came on shore at Antibes at midday of March 1st and bivouacked in an olive grove on the way to Cannes. That was a sight good for sore eyes, my friends, to see him sitting there by the camp fire, his feet firmly planted upon the soil of France. What a man, Sir, what a man!" he continued, turning directly to Clyffurde, "on board the _Inconstant_ he had composed and dictated his proclamation to the army, to the soldiers of France! the finest piece of prose, Sir, I have ever read in all my life. But you shall judge of it, Sir, you shall judge. . . ." And with hands shaking with excitement he fumbled in the bulging pocket of his coat and extracted therefrom a roll of loose papers roughly tied together with a piece of tape. "You shall read it, Sir," he went on mumbling, while his trembling fingers vainly tried to undo the knot in the tape, "you shall read it. And then mayhap you'll tell me if your Pitt was ever half so eloquent. Curse these knots!" he exclaimed angrily. "Will you allow me, Sir?" said Clyffurde quietly, and with steady hand and firm fingers he undid the refractory knots and spread the papers out upon the table. Already de Marmont had given a cry of loyalty and of triumph. "His proclamation!" he exclaimed, and a sigh of infinite satisfaction born of enthusiasm and of hero-worship escaped his quivering lips. The papers bore the signature of that name which had once been all-powerful in its magical charm, at sound of which Europe had trembled and crowns had felt insecure, the name which men had breathed--nay! still breathed--either with passionate loyalty or with bitter hatred:--"Napoleon." They were copies of the proclamation wherewith the heroic adventurer--confident in the power of his diction--meant to reconquer the hearts of that army whom he had once led to such glorious victories. De Marmont read the long document through from end to end in a half-audible voice. Now and again he gave a little cry--a cry of loyalty at mention of those victories of Austerlitz and Jena, of Wagram and of Eckm hl, at mention of those imperial eagles which had led the armies of France conquering and glorious throughout the length and breadth of Europe--or a cry of shame and horror at mention of the traitor whose name he bore and who had delivered France into the hands of strangers and his Emperor into those of his enemies. And when the young enthusiast had read the proclamation through to the end he raised the paper to his lips and fervently kissed the imprint of the revered name: "Napoleon." "Now tell me more about him," he said finally, as he leaned both elbows on the table and fastened his glowing eyes upon the equally heated face of Surgeon-Captain Emery. "Well!" resumed the latter, "as I told you we bivouacked among the olive trees on the way to Cannes. The Emperor had already sent Cambronne on ahead with forty of his grenadiers to commandeer what horses and mules he could, as we were not able to bring many across from Porto Ferrajo. 'Cambronne,' he said, 'you shall be in command of the vanguard in this the finest campaign which I have ever undertaken. My orders are to you, that you do not fire a single unnecessary shot. Remember that I mean to reconquer my imperial crown without shedding one drop of French blood.' Oh! he is in excellent health and in excellent spirits! Such a man! such fire in his eyes! such determination in his actions! Younger, bolder than ever! I tell you, friends," continued the worthy surgeon-captain as he brought the palm of his hand flat down upon the table with an emphatic bang, "that it is going to be a triumphal march from end to end of France. The people are mad about him. At Roccavignon, just outside Cannes, where we bivouacked on Thursday, men, women and children were flocking round to see him, pressing close to his knees, bringing him wine and flowers; and the people were crying 'Vive l'Empereur!' even in the streets of Grasse." "But the army, man? the army?" cried de Marmont, "the garrisons of Antibes and Cannes and Grasse? did the men go over to him at once?--and the officers?" "We hadn't encountered the army yet when I parted from him on Friday," retorted Emery with equal impatience, "we didn't go into Antibes and we avoided Cannes. You must give him time. The people in the towns wouldn't at first believe that he had come back. General Mass na, who is in command at Marseilles, thought fit to spread the news that a band of Corsican pirates had landed on the littoral and were marching inland--devastating villages as they marched. The peasants from the mountains were the first to believe that the Emperor had really come, and they wandered down in their hundreds to see him first and to spread the news of his arrival ahead of him. By the time we reached Castellane the mayor was not only ready to receive him but also to furnish him with 5,000 rations of meat and bread, with horses and with mules. Since then he has been at Digue and at Sisteron. Be sure that the garrisons of those cities have rallied round his eagles by now." Then whilst Emery paused for breath de Marmont queried eagerly: "And so . . . there has been no contretemps?" "Nothing serious so far," replied the other. "We had to abandon our guns at Grasse, the Emperor felt that they would impede the rapidity of his progress; and our second day's march was rather trying, the mountain passes were covered in snow, the lancers had to lead their horses sometimes along the edge of sheer precipices, they were hampered too by their accoutrements, their long swords and their lances; others--who had no mounts--had to carry their heavy saddles and bridles on those slippery paths. But _he_ was walking too, stick in hand, losing his footing now and then, just as they did, and once he nearly rolled down one of those cursed precipices: but always smiling, always cheerful, always full of hope. At Antibes young Casabianca got himself arrested with twenty grenadiers--they had gone into the town to requisition a few provisions. When the news reached us some of the younger men tried to persuade the Emperor to march on the city and carry the place by force of arms before Casabianca's misfortune got bruited abroad: 'No!' he said, 'every minute is precious. All we can do is to get along faster than the evil news can travel. If half my small army were captive at Antibes, I would still move on. If every man were a prisoner in the citadel, I would march on alone.' That's the man, my friends," cried Emery with ever-growing enthusiasm, "that's our Emperor!" And he cast a defiant look on Clyffurde, as much as to say: "Bring on your Wellington and your armies now! the Emperor has come back! the whole of France will know how to guard him!" Then he turned to de Marmont. "And now tell me about Grenoble," he said. "Grenoble had an inkling of the news already last night," said de Marmont, whose enthusiasm was no whit cooler than that of Emery. "Marchand has been secretly assembling his troops, he has sent to Chamb ry for the 7th and 11th regiment of the line and to Vienne for the 4th Hussars. Inside Grenoble he has the 5th infantry regiment, the 4th of artillery and 3rd of engineers, with a train squadron. This morning he is holding a council of war, and I know that he has been in constant communication with Mass na. The news is gradually filtering through into the town: people stand at the street corners and whisper among themselves; the word 'l'Empereur' seemed wafted upon this morning's breeze. . . ." "And by to-night we'll have the Emperor's proclamation to his people pinned up on the walls of the H tel de Ville!" exclaimed Emery, and with hands still trembling with excitement he gathered the precious papers once more together and slipped them back into his coat pocket. Then he made a visible effort to speak more quietly: "And now," he said, "for one very important matter which, by the way, was the chief reason for my asking you, my good de Marmont, to meet me here before my getting to Grenoble." "Yes? What is it?" queried de Marmont eagerly. Surgeon-Captain Emery leaned across the table; instinctively he dropped his voice, and though his excitement had not abated one jot, though his eyes still glowed and his hands still fidgeted nervously, he had forced himself at last to a semblance of calm. "The matter is one of money," he said slowly. "The Emperor has some funds at his disposal, but as you know, that scurvy government of the Restoration never handed him over one single sou of the yearly revenue which it had solemnly agreed and sworn to pay to him with regularity. Now, of course," he continued still more emphatically, "we who believe in our Emperor as we believe in God, we are absolutely convinced that the army will rally round him to a man. The army loves him and has never ceased to love him, the army will follow him to victory and to death. But the most loyal army in the world cannot subsist without money, and the Emperor has little or none. The news of his triumphant march across France will reach Paris long before he does, it will enable His Most Excellent and Most Corpulent Majesty King Louis to skip over to England or to Ghent with everything in the treasury on which he can lay his august hands. Now, de Marmont, do you perceive what the serious matter is which caused me to meet you here--twenty-five kilom tres from Grenoble, where I ought to be at the present moment." "Yes! I do perceive very grave trouble

repose

How many times the word 'repose' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

eagerly

How many times the word 'eagerly' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

flung

How many times the word 'flung' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

laundromat

How many times the word 'laundromat' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

met

How many times the word 'met' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

moments

How many times the word 'moments' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

scared

How many times the word 'scared' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

been

How many times the word 'been' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

how

How many times the word 'how' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

soon

How many times the word 'soon' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

late

How many times the word 'late' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

threshold

How many times the word 'threshold' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

pray

How many times the word 'pray' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

humors

How many times the word 'humors' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

secret

How many times the word 'secret' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

regal

How many times the word 'regal' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

other

How many times the word 'other' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

indeed

How many times the word 'indeed' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

yearly

How many times the word 'yearly' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

shall

How many times the word 'shall' appears in the text?

"my servants and dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the letter reaches the king." "The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling, she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor. They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through the door, and he shut it after her. "Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a little. Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments, and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well. Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was, carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story, if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed that morning in the castle of Zenda. At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf Rassendyll opened it. "Slept well?" asked Sapt. "Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully. "I thought you had more nerve." "It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr. Rassendyll. Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall, and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to the curtains. "There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course I can do the same." "Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What about the beard?" "Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning." "Will he believe that?" "Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything." "And if we have to kill him?" "We must run for it. The king would be furious." "He's fond of him?" "You forget. He wants to know about the dogs." "True. You'll be in your place in time?" "Of course." Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were running in a different channel. "When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he. Rudolf started. "Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly. Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven. "He'll be here in an hour," said he. "We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled. "Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?" "Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf." Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly. CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen; we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping. It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly between a curse and a laugh; its coming entangled us more tightly in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr. Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment, even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right, and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business. At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the young officer. "My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one another. "You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the king awaits you most impatiently." "I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim. "Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you waiting. Pray follow me." "No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something unfortunate." "Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs." The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a king. So it's taken off." "His beard!" "His beard, my dear Count." Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed and--"But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king's presence. "Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?" "I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature." "Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear Count." "Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously. "I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. "I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. "I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king. Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed. As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when it next spoke, was subdued. "Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right, I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours are magnificent." "You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in order to--" "Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself." "Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?" "In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done before Sapt appeared. "The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so beautifully--" "A thousand pardons, sire, but--" "Long and silky, that I despair of--" "I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted Rischenheim in agony. Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well, if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs." Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood between them. "Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a message." Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air. "I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the Count of Hentzau," said he. "Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty." "The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest displeasure." "Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's honor." "By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones. "By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high in your Majesty's love." "Name them." "Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty will believe written evidence." "Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted." "Sire, I have a copy--" "Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf. "My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--" "Of the queen's?" "Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused. "Well, my lord, to whom?" "To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll." Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference, but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me." Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king. "My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--" "A curse on how he got it! Give it me!" Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out a sheet of paper. But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it, flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver. But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple; and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said, "You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out. Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver and stowed it in his own pocket. "Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand up, sir." They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll. "Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us, sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim. But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door. Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed. "The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any moment." Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the prisoner's side. "We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion, as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim for it." "All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter there." "Burn it, you fool." "When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before." Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be back," he whispered. "Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?" "Yes, I heard." "Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king." "Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was to be kept waiting." Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and full-bearded. "Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was. "Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand on the curtain. A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain, "we were so interested in what the count was saying about his dogs--" "By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now tell me, Count--" "Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast waits." "Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant; and you, Colonel, come with us." They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king. "There are some papers in my drawer there, sire." "But why not lock the drawer? "I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. "You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not indisposed?" "I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. "Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry." Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. "I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. "Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. "Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. "Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. "Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty." "Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But perhaps that'll be enough." "I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. "Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone." The king lifted his eyebrows. "Is the business so private?" he asked. "I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer: "Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems." The king flushed red. "Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly. "Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--" "It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?" A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. "Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new," asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. "Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently. "It--it is only what you call the old story, sire." "Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. "My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me." Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king's rebuke. "Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm." Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. "What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. "I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. "No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!" "A thousand pardons, sire." "I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. "Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took another step. "You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. "Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head." As he spoke there came a knock at the door. "Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a telegram on a salver. "Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand. "Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the man respectfully. "Take it," whispered Sapt again. "Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the envelope. The servant bowed and shut the door. "Open it," commanded Sapt. "God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked with passion. "Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am, my lord. Be quick and open it." The count began to open it. "If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it." "By God, I won't read it." "Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers." The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable. "I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim. "Possibly I may be able to help you." "It's nothing but--" "Read, my lord, read!" Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19 Konigstrasse." "A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched from?" "Strelsau." "Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled what it means, Count?" "I don't know at all what it means!" "How strange! Because I can guess so well." "You are very acute, sir." "It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord." "And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message means?" "I think, my lord, that the message is an address." "An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf." "I don't think it's Holf's address." "Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking furtively at the constable. "Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of Hentzau." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket and bowed to the count. "In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he. * * * * * CHAPTER VI. THE TASK OF THE QUEEN'S SERVANTS THE doctor who attended me at Wintenberg was not only discreet, but also indulgent; perhaps he had the sense to see that little benefit would come to a sick man from fretting

scan

How many times the word 'scan' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

delicto

How many times the word 'delicto' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

cavaliers

How many times the word 'cavaliers' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

word

How many times the word 'word' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

value

How many times the word 'value' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

picture

How many times the word 'picture' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

palermo

How many times the word 'palermo' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

suppose

How many times the word 'suppose' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

boyfriend

How many times the word 'boyfriend' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

excellent

How many times the word 'excellent' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

simple

How many times the word 'simple' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

humour

How many times the word 'humour' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

fairstairs

How many times the word 'fairstairs' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

glowed

How many times the word 'glowed' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

obviously

How many times the word 'obviously' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

exaggerated

How many times the word 'exaggerated' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

dead

How many times the word 'dead' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

deeper

How many times the word 'deeper' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

putting

How many times the word 'putting' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

warmth

How many times the word 'warmth' appears in the text?

"will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphin --took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within. Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the horse away--somewhere out into the darkness--Maurice did not take the trouble to ascertain where. He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed, he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze; then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and hands to the pleasing warmth. Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with eagerness and impatience. The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a pleasing sound: a moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself with once more bolting his front door. "Well now, p re Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?" "Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly. "And a bottle of wine, of course." "Yes. A bottle of wine." "Well! be quick about it, petit p re. I didn't know how hungry I was till you talked of bread and cheese." "Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently. "Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?" "You'll pay for it all right enough?" "I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead with sleep as well as with hunger." The old man--a real peasant of the Dauphin in his deliberate manner and shrewd instincts of caution--once more shuffled out of the room, and St. Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy day-dream. Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him. "You said your house was full, petit p re," said Maurice after a while, when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place." "The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man gruffly. "The road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chamb ry. We get plenty of travellers this way!" "Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the dark, I can tell you." "That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my house, so they had to go." St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork. "A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour ago?" "Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room. I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's, further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He is up in our best bedroom." "A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit p re?" "Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her own son." Mechanically, St. Genis had once more taken up his knife and fork, though of a truth the last of his hunger had vanished. But these Dauphin peasants were suspicious and queer-tempered, and already the young man's surprise had matured into a plan which he would not be able to carry through without the help of Aristide Briot. Noisy cavaliers--he mused to himself--a wounded man! . . . wounded by the stray shot aimed at him by Crystal de Cambray! Indeed, St. Genis had much ado to keep his excitement in check, and to continue with a pretence at eating while Briot watched him with stolid indifference. "Petit p re," said the young man at last with as much unconcern as he could affect. "I have been thinking that you have--unwittingly--given me an excellent piece of news. I do believe that the man in your best bedroom upstairs is a friend of mine whom I was to have met at Lyons to-day and whose absence from our place of tryst had made me very anxious. I was imagining that all sorts of horrors had happened to him, for he is in the secret service of the King and exposed to every kind of danger. His being wounded in some skirmish either with highway robbers or with a band of the Corsican's pirates would not surprise me in the least, and the fact that he had some half-dozen mounted men with him confirms me in my belief that indeed it is my friend who is lying upstairs, as he often has to have an escort in the exercise of his duties. At any rate, petit p re," he concluded as he rose from the table, "by your leave, I'll go up and ascertain." While he rattled off these pretty proceeds of his own imagination, Maurice de St. Genis kept a sharp watch on Aristide Briot's face, ready to note the slightest sign of suspicion should it creep into the old man's shrewd eyes. Briot, however, did not exhibit any violent interest in his guest's story, and when the latter had finished speaking he merely said, pointing to the remnants of food upon the table: "I thought you said that you were hungry." "So I was, petit p re," rejoined Maurice impatiently, "so I was: but my hunger is not so great as it was, and before I eat another morsel I must satisfy myself that it is my friend who is safe and well in your old woman's care." "Oh! he is well enough," grunted Briot, "and you can see him in the morning." "That I cannot, for I shall have to leave here soon after dawn. And I could not get a wink of sleep whilst I am in such a state of uncertainty about my friend." "But you can't go and wake him now. He is asleep for sure, and my old woman wouldn't like him to be disturbed, after all the care she has given him." St. Genis, fretting with impatience, could have cursed aloud or shaken the obstinate old peasant roughly by the shoulders. "I shouldn't wake him," he retorted, irritated beyond measure at the man's futile opposition. "I'll go up on tiptoe, candle in hand--you shall show me the way to his room--and I'll just ascertain whether the wounded man is my friend or not, then I'll come down again quietly and finish my supper. "Come, petit p re, I insist," he added more peremptorily, seeing that Briot--with the hesitancy peculiar to his kind--still made no movement to obey, but stood close by scratching his scanty locks and looking puzzled and anxious. Fortunately for him Maurice understood the temperament of these peasants of the Dauphin , he knew that with their curious hesitancy and inherent suspiciousness it was always the easiest to make up their minds for them. So now--since he was absolutely determined to come to grips with that abominable thief upstairs, before the night was many minutes older--he ceased to parley with Briot. A candle stood close to his hand on the table, a bit of kindling wood lay in a heap in one corner, with the help of the one he lighted the other, then candle in hand he walked up to the door. "Show me the way, petit p re," he said. And Aristide Briot, with a shrug of the shoulders which implied that he there and then put away from him any responsibility for what might or might not occur after this, and without further comment, led the way upstairs. II On the upper landing at the top of the stairs Briot paused. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, and said curtly: "That's his room." "I thank you, petit p re," whispered St. Genis in response. "Don't wait for me, I'll be back directly." "He is not yet in bed," was Briot's dry comment. A thin streak of light showed underneath the door. As St. Genis walked rapidly toward it he wondered if the door would be locked. That certainly was a contingency which had not occurred to him. His design was to surprise a wounded and helpless thief in his sleep and to force him then and there to give up the stolen money, before he had time to call for help. But the miscreant was evidently on the watch, Briot still lingered on the top of the stairs, there were other people sleeping in the house, and St. Genis suddenly realised that his purpose would not be quite so easy of execution as he had hot-headedly supposed. But the end in view was great, and St. Genis was not a man easily deterred from a set purpose. There was the royalist cause to aid and Crystal to be won if he were successful. He knocked resolutely at the door, then tried the latch. The door was locked: but even as the young man hesitated for a moment wondering what he would do next, a firm step resounded on the floor on the other side of the partition and the next moment the door was opened from within, and a peremptory voice issued the usual challenge: "Who goes there?" A tall figure appeared as a massive silhouette under the lintel. St. Genis had the candle in his hand. He dropped it in his astonishment. "Mr. Clyffurde!" he exclaimed. At sight of St. Genis the Englishman, whose right arm was in a sling, had made a quick instinctive movement back into the room, but equally quickly Maurice had forestalled him by placing his foot across the threshold. Then he turned back to Aristide Briot. "That's all right, petit p re," he called out airily, "it is indeed my friend, just as I thought. I'm going to stay and have a little chat with him. Don't wait up for me. When he is tired of my company I'll go back to the parlour and make myself happy in front of the fire. Good-night!" As Clyffurde no longer stood in the doorway, St. Genis walked straight into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving good old Aristide to draw what conclusions he chose from the eccentric behaviour of his nocturnal visitors. With a rapid and wrathful gaze, St. Genis at once took stock of everything in the room. A sigh of satisfaction rose to his lips. At any rate the rogue could not deny his guilt. There, hanging on a peg, was the caped coat which he had worn, and there on the table were two damning proofs of his villainy--a pair of pistols and a black mask. The whole situation puzzled him more than he could say. Certainly after the first shock of surprise he had felt his wrath growing hotter and hotter every moment, the other man's cool assurance helped further to irritate his nerves, and to make him lose that self-control which would have been of priceless value in this unlooked-for situation. Seeing that Maurice de St. Genis was absolutely speechless with surprise as well as with anger, there crept into Clyffurde's deep-set grey eyes a strange look of amusement, as if the humour of his present position was more obvious than its shame. "And what," he asked pleasantly, "has procured me the honour at this late hour of a visit from M. le Marquis de St. Genis?" His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt. An impartial observer viewing the situation would certainly have thought that here was an impudent villain vanquished and lying on his back, whilst being admonished for his crimes by a just man who had might as well as right on his side. "Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ." "Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper." "Let go my throat!" "I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend--whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one." "Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me." "Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate." "Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness." "Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation." "Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?" "Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England." He relaxed his hold on Maurice's legs and throat, and the young man--fretting and fuming, wild with impotent wrath and with mortification--struggled to his feet. "Are you proposing to give me some explanation to mitigate your crime?" he said roughly. "If so, let me tell you that I will accept none. Putting the question aside of your abominable theft, you have committed an outrage against people whom I honour, and against the woman whom I love." "Nor do I propose to give you any explanation, M. de St. Genis," retorted Clyffurde, who still spoke quite quietly and evenly. "But for the sake of your own peace of mind, which you will I hope communicate to the people whom you honour, I will tell you a few simple facts." Neither of the men sat down: they stood facing one another now across the table whereon stood a couple of tallow candles which threw fitful, yellow lights on their faces--so different, so strangely contrasted--young and well-looking both--both strongly moved by passion, yet one entirely self-controlled, while in the other's eyes that passion glowed fierce and resentful. "I listen," said St. Genis curtly. And Clyffurde began after a slight pause: "At the time that you fell upon me with such ill-considered vigour, M. de St. Genis," he said, "did you know that but for my abominable outrage upon the persons whom you honour, the money which they would gladly have guarded with their life would have fallen into the hands of Bonaparte's agents?" "In theirs or yours, what matters?" retorted St. Genis savagely, "since His Majesty is deprived of it now." "That is where you are mistaken, my young friend," said the other quietly. "His Majesty is more sure of getting the money now than he was when M. le Comte de Cambray with his family and yourself started on that quixotic if ill-considered errand this morning." St. Genis frowned in puzzlement: "I don't understand you," he said curtly. "Isn't it simple enough? You and your friends credited me with friendship for de Marmont: he is hot-headed and impetuous, and words rush out of his mouth that he should keep to himself. I knew from himself that Bonaparte had charged him to recover the twenty-five millions which M. le pr fet Fourier had placed in the Comte de Cambray's charge." "Why did you not warn the Comte then?" queried St. Genis, who, still mistrustful, glowered at his antagonist. "Would he have listened to me, think you?" asked the other with a quiet smile. "Remember, he had turned me out of his house two nights before, without a word of courtesy or regret--on the mere suspicion of my intercourse with de Marmont. Were you too full with your own rage to notice what happened then? Mlle. Crystal drew away her skirts from me as if I were a leper. What credence would they have given my words? Would the Comte even have admitted me into his presence?" "And so . . . you planned this robbery . . . you . . ." stammered St. Genis, whose astonishment and puzzlement were rendering him as speechless as his rage had done. "I'll not believe it," he continued more firmly; "you are fooling me, now that I have found you out." "Why should I do that? You are in my hands, and not I in yours. Bonaparte is victorious at Grenoble. I could take the money to him and earn his gratitude, or use the money for mine own ends. What have I to fear from you? What cause to fool you? Your opinion of me? M. le Comte's contempt or goodwill? Bah! after to-night are we likely to meet again?" St. Genis said nothing in reply. Of a truth there was nothing that he could say. The Englishman's whole attitude bore the impress of truth. Even through that still seething wrath which refused to be appeased, St. Genis felt that the other was speaking the truth. His mind now was in turmoil of wonderment. This man who stood here before him had done something which he--St. Genis--could not comprehend. Vaguely he realised that beneath the man's actions there still lay a yet deeper foundation of dignity and of heroism and one which perhaps would never be wholly fathomed. It was Clyffurde who at last broke the silence between them: "You, M. de St. Genis," he said lightly, "would under like circumstances have acted just as I did, I am sure. The whole idea was so easy of execution. Half a dozen loafers to aid me, the part of highwayman to play--an old man and two or three defenceless women--my part was not heroic, I admit," he added with a smile, "but it has served its purpose. The money is safe in my keeping now, within a few days His Majesty the King of France shall have it, and all those who strive to serve him loyally can rest satisfied." "I confess I don't understand you," said St. Genis, as he seemed to shake himself free from some unexplainable spell that held him. "You have rendered us and the legitimate cause of France a signal service! Why did you do it?" "You forget, M. de St. Genis, that the legitimate cause of France is England's cause as well." "Are you a servant of your country then? I thought you were a tradesman engaged in buying gloves." Clyffurde smiled. "So I am," he said, "but even a tradesman may serve his country, if he has the opportunity." "I hope that your country will be duly grateful," said Maurice, with a sigh. "I know that every royalist in France would thank you if they knew." "By your leave, M. de St. Genis, no one in France need know anything but what you choose to tell them. . . ." "You mean . . ." "That except for reassuring M. le Comte de Cambray and . . . and Mlle. Crystal, there is no reason why they should ever know what passed between us in this room to-night." "But if the King is to have the money, he . . ." "He will never know from me, from whence it comes." "He will wish to know. . . ." "Come, M. de St. Genis," broke in Clyffurde, with a slight hint of impatience, "is it for me to tell you that Great Britain has more than one agent in France these days--that the money will reach His Majesty the King ultimately through the hands of his foreign minister M. le Comte de Jaucourt . . . and that my name will never appear in connection with the matter? . . . I am a mere servant of Great Britain--doing my duty where I can . . . nothing more." "You mean that you are in the British Secret Service? No?--Well! I don't profess to understand you English people, and you seem to me more incomprehensible than any I have known. Not that I ever believed that you were a mere tradesman. But what shall I say to M. le Comte de Cambray?" he added, after a slight pause, during which a new and strange train of thought altered the expression of wonderment on his face, to one that was undefinable, almost furtive, certainly undecided. "All you need say to M. le Comte," replied Clyffurde, with a slight tone of impatience, "is that you are personally satisfied that the money will reach His Majesty's hand safely, and in due course. At least, I presume that you are satisfied, M. de St. Genis," he continued, vaguely wondering what was going on in the young Frenchman's brain. "Yes, yes, of course I am satisfied," murmured the other, "but . . ." "But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly. "And I love her with my heart and soul," continued Maurice impetuously. "Oh! I cannot tell you what we have suffered--she and I--when the exigencies of her position and the will of her father parted us--seemingly for ever. Her heart was broken and so was mine: and I endured the tortures of hell when I realised at last that she was lost to me for ever and that her exquisite person--her beautiful soul--were destined for the delight of that low-born traitor Victor de Marmont." He drew

straight

How many times the word 'straight' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

interest

How many times the word 'interest' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

quite

How many times the word 'quite' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

those

How many times the word 'those' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

dining

How many times the word 'dining' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

zapiga

How many times the word 'zapiga' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

come

How many times the word 'come' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

tale

How many times the word 'tale' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

jersey

How many times the word 'jersey' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

catherine

How many times the word 'catherine' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

king

How many times the word 'king' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

head

How many times the word 'head' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

confidently

How many times the word 'confidently' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

cars

How many times the word 'cars' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

talent

How many times the word 'talent' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

take

How many times the word 'take' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

unprofitable

How many times the word 'unprofitable' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

when

How many times the word 'when' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

makeshift

How many times the word 'makeshift' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

basket

How many times the word 'basket' appears in the text?

$20. Here, $5. TONY Can you spare it? MICHAEL Sure. TONY (SARCASTICALLY) Thanks. EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE - DAY The car pulls up at TONY'S PLACE. TONY yells to CHARLIE, who is standing outside. TONY Hey Charlie. Get in. CHARLIE gets in. 50. CHARLIE What's a'matter? MICHAEL Nothin'. Just stiffed those kids. Don't want'em comin' back and findin' you...start asking you questions. CHARLIE How much? MICHAEL $20. CHARLIE Let's go to the movies...on you. TONY Yeah. MICHAEL Ok guys...have a heart. This is my business. BLACK & WHITE EXT. NIGHT - IN FRONT OF MOVIE THEATER The boys are paying for their tickets. INT. MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT DONOVAN'S REEF is showing. We see a brief scene from the film which has JOHN WAYNE fighting LEE MARVIN in a big bar- room brawl. CUT TO: The boys smile and watch. CUT TO: EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT BLACK & WHITE The two boys from Riverdale are still watching on the corner, in the dark. INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY CHARLIE is at home shaving. 51. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) You know damn well what's going to happen tonight. I'll probably get drunk at that party...it isn't every day you send one of your best friends off to war for God and country... gotta have a party. I mean, he's a nice kid. CUT TO: CHARLIE is gluing on a fake beard. CHARLIE (VOICE OVER) I don't know what You think of him but that's between You and him anyway...I can't help feeling sorry for him though. Has a talent but doesn't use it...His brain. An 'Unprofitable servant who shall be cast forth into the darkness outside, where there will be... CUT TO: Television image of old women mourning their dead in India. The images are slow motion. The news continues with more trivial news images...(Washington investigations, demonstrations, etc.) CHARLIE (continued voice over) ...the weeping and the gnashing of teeth'...or something like that. My talent's my brain too but I use my talent...I'm not saying that I'm a genius...You'll probably be the first one to agree on that, but I can tell the difference between the intelligent and the stupid. Take the army for example... CUT TO: CHARLIE grabbing a white robe off his bed. We don't see his face. CHARLIE (continued voice over) That's there and I'm here and that's the way it's going to stay! 52. INT. WEST SIDE TENEMENT APARTMENT BATHROOM - NIGHT TONY enters the bathroom, turns on the light and locks the door. Party noises can be heard in the background TONY is wearing an overcoat and is dressed as a World War I "dough boy". Atop his head is a mask, the features of which can't be seen. He opens the coat to reveal twenty packets of red Jello. He turns on the hot water in the bathtub and slowly begins to empty each packet of Jello into the tub of steaming water. CUT TO: LIVING ROOM & KITCHENETTE - PARTY - NIGHT Most of the characters that were at the club the other night are present at the party. Many of them are dressed in semi- masquerade outfits. Some are wearing soldiers' uniforms. One wears a sheet made up to be a Roman Toga. The girls are in costumes also. All of the costumes are makeshift. MICHAEL is made up as Dracula, sporting a large cape, semi tuxedo-type suit, and a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slicked back to give him a "Bela Lugosi" look. He is showing a picture of a girl to one of the boys, proudly proclaiming that she is his latest conquest. TONY comes out of the bathroom and passes by. He takes the photo from MICHAEL. Group attention focuses on TONY now. He stares at the picture, holds it away from him, then closer to his face, then sideways and finally upside-down. TERESA Oh sure! I know her Michael...In fact, I saw her a few days ago under a bridge in Jersey, making out with a nigger. MICHAEL grimaces in shock. He spits. MICHAEL You sure?...a nigger...Uh!...and I kissed her. He wipes his lips with his cape. The guest of honor, the young soldier is very drunk. He is attempting to open his going away presents, one of which turns out to be a carefully folded American flag. He attempts to open it with one great flourish. He fails however, knocking over the glasses on the table. The group applauds. 53. Suddenly, the doorbell rings and everyone looks up. The door opens and CHARLIE appears, arms outstretched, dressed as the ressurected Christ - with white robes, fake beard and hair, and artificial wounds. His arms stretch out wider. The initial shock wears off and TONY greets him. TONY (SMILING) Hallelujah!! CHARLIE enters in mock holiness. CHARLIE I have come to create order... Scotch and water please. They all laugh. The rock music blares as CHARLIE walks to and fro blessing all in the room. TONY is delighted with the scene. CHARLIE sits at the kitchen table, TONY opposite him, and the others gather around. The party is getting noisier. TONY gives CHARLIE a glass of ice cubes. CHARLIE plays the part of a priest, during the Mass when the chalice is filled with wine and water, TONY pours the scotch over his fingers first. CHARLIE lifts his hands to touch the bottle as a priest would. He signifies that there is enough in the glass. TONY then repeats the same ritual with a bottle of soda-water. CHARLIE May God be with you. TONY 'And with your spirit.' CHARLIE (gesturing with his drink) Salute!!! Everyone drinks after repeating the toast. The crowd around them begins to break up as CHARLIE and TONY begin to have fun with each other. TONY pulls down his mask, revealing a skeleton death face which covers his own face except for his mouth. It completes the Dough-boy uniform quite well. TONY (taking on the guise of an interviewer) 'Art thou the King of the Jews'? CHARLIE 'Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others told thee of me?' 54. TONY 'Am I a Jew? Thy own people and the chief priests have delivered thee to me. What hast thou done?' MICHAEL and a few of the others gather around again as they continue. CHARLIE 'My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world my followers would have fought that I might not be delivered to the Jews. But, as it is my kingdom is not from here.' TONY 'Thou art then a king?' CHARLIE 'Thou sayest it; I am a king. This is why I was born and why I have come into this world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.' TONY leans over towards CHARLIE. TONY 'What is the truth?' The others around them give mock applause. TONY smiles and nods his head to them. CHARLIE laughs. They drink. Someone hits CHARLIE on the back of the head. CHARLIE startled, looks up. TONY Prophesy to us, oh Christ! Who is it that struck thee? CHARLIE I don't know, but God help him if he does it again! They all laugh. INT. SAME APARTMENT - NEXT ROOM - NIGHT CHARLIE is talking to MICHAEL. The conversation is serious. CHARLIE has not lost his sense of humor. CHARLIE He said he'd be here. 55. MICHAEL Well, he isn't. Nice...real nice. CHARLIE He'll be here. Look, take this for now. He hands MICHAEL a twenty dollar bill from under his robe. MICHAEL You kiddin. The way it is now this isn't even interest for two hours. CHARLIE (putting the bill back into his pocket) How much was the original loan again? MICHAEL $500. He borrowed that because he wanted to pay off his other loans... now, counting the interest...it's almost $3,000. CHARLIE $3,000. Shit! Can we hold it at $3,000? MICHAEL Charlie, this is business. CHARLIE (avoiding the issue) 'But I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute...' MICHAEL I'll tell you who you can pray for... Next payday, I'll be at Tony's Place...Johnny better show or I find him and break his legs...and I mean it. CHARLIE (in the same manner) 'But I say to you not to resist the evildoer; on the contrary, if someone takes thy tunic, let him take thy cloak as well...to him who asks of thee, give; and from him who would borrow of thee do not turn away! 56. MICHAEL (EXASPERATED) He could at least show some respect and show his face, even if he doesn't have the money... CHARLIE (more serious now) 'Amen I say to thee, thou wilt not come out from it until thou hast paid the last penny.' MICHAEL You said it. A loud scream is heard from the bathroom. CUT TO: APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT Someone shoved a nude girl into the bathtub which is now filled with congealed red jello. The boys are laughing and shoving each other about roughly. CHARLIE comes out of the next room and walks along in a Christ like manner through the madness, his arms outstretched. One boy kneels and kisses the hem of his robe and CHARLIE blesses him. There is a great deal of pushing and shoving going on inside the bathroom and near the doorway. CHARLIE promises to save the sinner as he pushes his way through. He helps the girl remove the jello from her body and helps her out of the bathtub. It is obvious that she is quite stoned. She caresses him and they find themselves kissing. The others storm into the bathroom and grab CHARLIE. EVERYONE Blasphemy!...The anti-Christ! Crucify him!! They drag CHARLIE into the next room where, amidst all the shouting and laughing, the other members of the party are placing firecrackers on model airplanes, simulating their own "dog fight". They are flying the planes out the open window. CHARLIE takes everything in stride trying to shout a few lines over their laughter. CHARLIE 'Father...forgive them...for they know not...what they do...' The doorbell rings and TONY answers it. It is TERESA and she looks very worried. 57. TERESA Charlie...? Charlie here...? CUT TO: BLACK & WHITE EXT. STREET - NIGHT CHARLIE and TERESA dash from a tenement doorway. CHARLIE is still in beard and wig but his robes are open so they give the effect of being a bulky overcoat. TERESA (FRANTICALLY) The building on the corner. That one! He's been on the roof a half hour now! CHARLIE Now don't get excited. Don't get excited!! It is very late and the streets are deserted. At the corner of the building in question, a few of JOHNNY BOY'S friends cling to the wall for safety. When they see CHARLIE and TERESA they call out. FRIENDS Charlie, stay there...He's crazy... He's got a 22. TERESA gets up against a wall. CHARLIE sends her down the block and she leaves reluctantly. CHARLIE Johnny it's me, Charlie. JOHNNY BOY can now be seen silhouetted against the moonlight on the tenement roof. He has a gun in his hand. JOHNNY BOY Don't come any closer!!! CHARLIE Cut it out stupid. It's me. JOHNNY BOY fires a shot into the air. CHARLIE clings to the wall with the others. A moment later he makes a quick run for the doorway of the building across the street. He enters the building that leads to the roof. BLACK & WHITE 58. EXT. TENEMENT ROOF - NIGHT CHARLIE has reached the roof. JOHNNY BOY Charlie...pssst. Over here. He laughs with glee. CHARLIE What are you...crazy? He slaps JOHNNY BOY on the back of the head. JOHNNY BOY Hey...don't do that...I'm only scaring them. CHARLIE Stupid bastard...you get your cousin half-sick over this. The boys below are still clinging to the walls of the building. JOHNNY is oblivious to CHARLIE'S statement. JOHNNY BOY Watch this. He takes out a home made firecracker consisting of glass cigar tubing filled with gunpowder and a waxed fuse stick through the top layer of cork. He lights it. CHARLIE What the fuck... JOHNNY BOY tosses it over the building and it blows up in mid-air. The boys below rush madly away. Lights go on in the tenements around them. The explosion was quite loud. CHARLIE Let's get out of here. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) Did you see them run! BLACK & WHITE EXT. CEMETARY - NIGHT CHARLIE and JOHNNY BOY are sneaking over a fence in an old cemetary which is part of their neighborhood. It surrounds their church and dates back to the beginning of the 19th century. No one is buried there any longer. 59. It is very quiet and dark. They sit and rest. CHARLIE is still in his makeup. JOHNNY BOY I swear to God Charlie...my arm still hurts from the car accident...that's why I didn't go to work. I swear it. CHARLIE (ANGRY) That's not going to help. JOHNNY BOY I'm going to work this week...I mean it. CHARLIE It's impossible for you to catch up on the loan now...the interest is going up...$3,000...do you realize that, flash? JOHNNY BOY I'm sorry Charlie...I didn't mean it. CHARLIE Big deal...in the meantime, it's done...I'll still try to help you out...You know that...but you gotta show some effort...some respect... understand? JOHNNY BOY Charlie, you know the best way to take care of this whole mess. CHARLIE How? JOHNNY BOY (COAXING) If you had a little talk with your uncle...if anybody can do it, he can. CHARLIE That'll help you out fine. That's the best way for you, not for me! I swear to God, I'll rip you open if my uncle ever hears a word about this. You understand? I don't care what happens, he doesn't find out. (MORE) 60. CHARLIE (CONT'D) I don't get involved with anything, you understand that? Nothing! I'm clean as far as you know...right? JOHNNY BOY Yeah, take it easy. Will you relax. CHARLIE That's what I get for getting involved. Look, on pay-day at least show up at Tony's Place to meet him, ok? This way he doesn't think that you're trying to screw him. If you show good faith and save his face maybe we can talk and he'll take off the interest or make different payment arrangements or something... understand? I'm not asking I'm telling you!! JOHNNY BOY I understand. JOHNNY BOY closes his eyes. CHARLIE looks at JOHNNY BOY and then looks at the cemetary in the moonlight. It seems totally apart from the city with the sirens and cars far in the distance. CHARLIE stands and unravels his robes, preparing to take them off. He projects the image of Christ delivering a sermon. Music and laughter in the distance catches his attention. The lights and the music are coming from the top floor of a tenement building where a Puerto Rican family is having a party. The sound echoes through the streets. Decorations are hanging and blowing away through the open windows. As CHARLIE watches a fight break out over one of the girls. Screams are heard. People run up and down the fire escape. CHARLIE has pulled off the robe. He now removes the beard and wig and has become himself again. He leans over to find JOHNNY BOY fast asleep on a tomb. CHARLIE 'Could you not, then, watch one hour with me?' He wakes JOHNNY BOY up. CHARLIE 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.' 61. They leave. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - NIGHT CHARLIE is sitting in the corner. The restaurant is in the same condition that it was the last time he was there. While CHARLIE waits for his uncle in his semi-private corner, a handful of old Mafiosi, invited by GIOVANNI, sit at another table. GIOVANNI enters with MARIO. The old Mafiosi are greeted first. They rise and kiss GIOVANNI on the cheek. CHARLIE is very impressed at their respectful showing. The waitresses and everyone else in the club treat them all like royalty. CUT TO: OSCAR approaches the table where CHARLIE, GIOVANNI, and MARIO are seated and greets them warmly. OSCAR Put the menus away. I, personally do the cooking tonight. GIOVANNI Fine...that's why I'm here. MARIO Calamari? OSCAR Capozelle, Calamari...anything you want... GIOVANNI (POURING WINE) Drink. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - LATER IN THE MEAL OSCAR sits. OSCAR Giovanni...er...can I talk? Refering to CHARLIE. GIOVANNI nods his head yes. OSCAR About the place, Giovanni... 62. GIOVANNI ...I know all about it. We'll discuss it later. OSCAR (CONTINUING) Our arrangements about the place haven't changed, have they? I mean... GIOVANNI (GOOD-NATUREDLY) No, no, not at all...look, we leave it the way it is for now, we talk later, understand? OSCAR (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED) Sure, Giovanni...I understand. I'll bring the clams now. DISSOLVE TO: INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - DURING DINNER CHARLIE is visible awed by GIOVANNI and MARIO'S confidence and power. He is behaving as if he were at a job interview...very formally. CHARLIE had often had dinner with his uncle but this time the conversation is more pointed. Their conversation is mostly in ITALIAN WITH ENGLISH TITLES. They are discusssing GROPPI'S suicide. CHARLIE I really couldn't believe it when you told me, you know that? GIOVANNI Well, he was always a little crazy... he puts a gun in his mouth... (HE SMILES) ...like your friend...comme si chiama...Henning? Heming? CHARLIE Hemmingway. Killed himself. I was more upset about that than about Groppi, that's for sure. GIOVANNI (laughing to MARIO) You know, this boy over here, once, long time ago, tried to enrich my mind...so he gives me a book by this Hemin fella...to read, so I read it. 63. CHARLIE Wasn't a book...was a short story. MARIO What was it? CHARLIE (EMBARRASSED) Nothing. MARIO No, c'mon...Y'know, I read. CHARLIE (MUTTERING) "Francis Macomber." MARIO Wha? THE CONVERSATION IS NOW ENGLISH. CHARLIE (SOFTLY) "Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." MARIO Oh yeah...didn't read it but I saw the movie...Gregory Peck...pretty good. GIOVANNI Yeh, Mario over here, he reads a lot. IN ITALIAN. GIOVANNI Surprised? MARIO I like this Harold Robbins... CHARLIE (POLITELY) Oh yes, he's pretty good. GIOVANNI What I don't understand is why you have to go to college to read these books that you're gonna read anyway. 64. CHARLIE It's only a couple of courses...just for the draft. MARIO Charlie, couple of courses isn't enough to get you student deferred... I mean if they wanted to draft you, you would've been drafted by now. CHARLIE feels that it would be better not to pursue the point. GIOVANNI What Mario's trying to tell you, Charlie, is that you're wasting your time with those "couple of courses" ...you don't need them. There are a lot of things that can be taken care of...you know what I mean? They all laugh. DISSOLVE TO: They become aware of the T.V. set which is on in the rear of the back room where they are dining. The news is on...politics, society, and war. GIOVANNI These politicians...they talk nice. CHARLIE listen attentively, but obviously has heard GIOVANNI'S philosophy before. GIOVANNI (CONTINUING) ...but it's the same thing, all the same...they're in there by having something on somebody...and when that doesn't work...they fight...Our life has honor...we have no show to put on because we do what we have to do. They know where to come when they need us. I realize this during the war...World War II...Vito Genovese... during WWII he worked with the government, taking care of the docks... CHARLIE What did he do? 65. GIOVANNI What did he do? He was there... that's what he did. MARIO In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI (TO CHARLIE) I told this...the same thing to your father thirty years ago...I told him what to do...but he didn't listen. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT - COFFEE The conversation turns to more direct topics while they have their coffee and ainsette. GIOVANNI You're still around with that kid Johnny Boy...last night with that gun...Don't get mixed up with them. This Johnny Boy, you know, he's named after me... (SARCASTIC) nice, eh? This Johnny Boy is like your mister Groppi...a little crazy. It's nice you should help him out because of his family and our family but watch yourself...Don't spoil anything. CHARLIE nods, feeling very uneasy. GIOVANNI (CONFIDENTIALLY) His whole family has problems...his cousin, the girl who lives next door to you... CHARLIE Teresa. GIOVANNI ...The one who's sick, right? In the head. 66. CHARLIE No, she's got epilepsy. GIOVANNI Yeah. That's what I said, sick in the head. CHARLIE nods. GIOVANNI Her mother and father come to me and ask advice...she wants to leave...get her own apartment...worries them sick...what am I gonna tell them? Lock her up? CHARLIE What do they expect you to say? GIOVANNI Who knows? It's not hard to figure out what she'll wind up like. When the respect for parents breaks down, that's bad...you know I'm "cumpari" with them...so I take an interest. You live next door, keep an eye open...but don't get involved. CHARLIE All right. MARIO Why don't you take a look around the place if you want? CHARLIE Oh, that's ok...I've been in and out of this place fifty times. GIOVANNI Well, maybe you missed something? CHARLIE (CATCHING ON) Oh yeah, that's a possibility. CHARLIE heads for the kitchen. CHARLIE (CONFESSION) ...looks good...things look good, if I may say so myself. Don't you agree? Unless there's something You know that I don't know? CUT TO: 67. INT. OSCAR'S RESTAURANT KITCHEN - NIGHT CHARLIE is examining the kitchen closely. A black cook is working hard, taking a piece of meat off the grill. He carefully prepares a dish. COOK Hi Charlie. CHARLIE smiles and moves in closer to the grill. The cook is sweating and mopping his brow. COOK (CONTINUING) Man, it's hot as Hell in here, every day like going through Hell in here. CHARLIE moves in closer and the COOK continues preparing the food. CHARLIE (SMILING) Hot as hell...You're not the only one going through Hell kid. COOK Maybe so...but at this pay it ain't worth it...that much I can tell you. CHARLIE hasn't been listening to the COOK. He has become fascinated with the flames on the grill. They remind him of an old device from his Catholic School days. CHARLIE brings his hand forward and closer to the fire, testing the pain of the "Fires of Hell." CHARLIE (CONFESSION) 'If thy hand is an occasion of sin to thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into hell, into the unquenchable fire. 'Where their worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.' CHARLIE'S hand touches the flame. He winces. Music in. INT. TONY'S CAR (NEW CADILLAC CONVERTIBLE-TOP UP) - DAY CHARLIE, JOHNNY, TONY and JIMMY are driving along in TONY'S car. As they talk, a derelict takes advantage of a red light to wipe their windshield. 68. TONY rolls up the window and rolls the car forward a bit to force the derelict out of the way. TONY Is it near Sullivan Street? JIMMY No - by Bedford. TONY Oh - you gotta show me. I always get lost in the village. CHARLIE Next time, bet with your own kind. JIMMY The number was 235 - I bet it combination. CHARLIE It'll be OK - I know those guys. They won't stiff you. JIMMY I bet 235. Because I dreamt of my grandfather - and when he died, the number of the funeral parlour was 235 - so when I dreamt... JOHNNY BOY Yeah, yeah - enough. They arrive at the bar. JOEY Hello Charlie, you canonized yet? CHARLIE No - not yet - just blessed. CUT TO: Boys are in mid-discussion. JIMMY On Friday, the 25th--I placed it WITH SALLY-- JOEY (BEING DISTRACT) I never heard of it. 69. CHARLIE Oh Joey, really...we're all friends here--let's cut the bullshit. JOEY (begins to chuckle) ...Well... (TO JIMMY) you got a good friend here--come to think of it, I do remember now. JOHNNY BOY (under his breath) SCUMBAG-- TONY (nudging JOHNNY BOY) (under his breath) Shut up. JOEY (MAKING EXCUSE) Well, Friday's are busy--a mistake can be made y'know. Have another drink. CHARLIE Whatever, just lets settle this and it's all forgotten. JOHNNY BOY I don't forget nothin. JOEY looks at JOHNNY BOY but decides to let it pass. CHARLIE gives JOHNNY BOY a dirty look. Music is playing on a juke box. Several girls stand nearby listening to both the music and the discussion. JOHNNY BOY looks over at them and then at JOEY. JOHNNY BOY Lower the fuckin music--I can't hear nothin. JOEY The girls like it loud. JOHNNY BOY Girls? You call those skanks girls?! JOEY, his friends, and the girls all look up. JOEY'S attitude changes. 70. JOEY (TO CHARLIE) What's the matter with this kid? JOHNNY BOY I feel fine--nothing wrong with me. CHARLIE Keep your mouth shut. JOHNNY BOY You tell me that in front of these creeps? JOEY We won't pay... JIMMY Why? We just said... JOHNNY BOY (INTERRUPTING) We won't pay...because this guy (pointing to JIMMY) is a...mook. JIMMY But I didn't say nothin. The fellows look at each other bewildered. JOEY (TO JIMMY) We don't pay mooks! Nobody knows what a mook is. JIMMY'S attitude now changes. JIMMY (ANGRILY) A mook...I'm a mook... (PAUSES) What's a mook? CHARLIE can no longer control the situation as tempers rise. JIMMY You can't call me a mook! JIMMY swings at JOEY. A fight breaks out. JIMMY, CHARLIE, TONY and JOHNNY BOY are beaten. CHARLIE, not badly hurt manages to calm everything down. The police arrive to break up the fight. People look iin as the two cops walk into the bar. The boys stop fighting immediately as they see the cops. 71. In fact, they treat CHARLIE and the others as friends-- helping them up off the floor, dusting off the clothes, etc. The police search everyone. When they ask who started it-- what happened, etc. everybody including CHARLIE and the others cover for everyone else. "It was a joke officer" "He's my cousin" "We were just kidding," etc. The cops nod. "Play nice now" and leave. Everyone apologizes to each other. They drink again. JOHNNY BOY doesn't say a word--just stares. JOEY We were gonna pay you Jimmy, we just don't like being moved in on. CHARLIE C'mon -- I'm movin' in on you? Let's have another drink and forget about it. They drink again. JOEY gives JIMMY the money, JIMMY goes to count it. JOEY Don't count it...it's all there. JOHNNY BOY (SARCASTIC) Count it. JOEY Hey, c'mon - no bullshit - friends. JOEY extends his hand. JIMMY and CHARLIE shake. JOEY extends his hand to JOHNNY. JOHNNY BOY Don't fuckin' touch me - scumbag. CHARLIE and the others "Oh no." CHARLIE Shut up stupid. He is interrupted by a flying fist. The fight breaks out anew. They barely make it to the door. JIMMY is out first, with his cash. They run down the street. The west side boys don't chase them but stand by their bar shouting after them. JOHNNY is laughing as he runs. CHARLIE yells at him. 72. CHARLIE You got some mouth! JIMMY Johnny, you're a real jerk-off. JOHNNY BOY (LAUGHING) What're ya hollering? You got your money. They reach the car. TONY heads in first behind the wheel. TONY (about to take off) Fuck youse all. The others jump in. CHARLIE You got no honor Tony. Charge! The car starts off. Garbage and garbage pails are tosses after them as the boys take off. INT. TONY'S PLACE CUT TO: A LONG-HAIRED ROCK GROUP The lead guitarist holds his guitar out like a machine gun and strums frantically on it swinging it back and forth at the audience and then at the rest of the group. As he does so, the rest of the group falls "dead" over their instruments. The number is over and they all get up. The place is empty except for CHARLIE, TONY, and a few others, all of whom have been listening to the band. They applaude. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE CHARLIE is talking to the leader of the group. CHARLIE No, really, I liked it...thought it was great. BOY Thanks. 73. CHARLIE What are your plans? BOY Well, we're here for about two weeks, then whatever else comes along... we're still working on our album and... CHARLIE Great...great...listen, I'm very interested in you guys because I'll be opening a new club myself soon... uptown...and maybe we can work something out... BOY Sounds good. CHARLIE Of course, 'The Season of the Witch' won't be ready for a while yet but we have to keep in touch. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - PHONE BOOTH CHARLIE is calling TERESA. The rock group is taking a break before their evening performance and they can be heard breaking up the session in the background. TONY and the others are getting the tables ready. CHARLIE Teresa?...Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'm looking for your cousin. Yeah, well today's Tuesday, payday. I haven't seen him all day...no...well, have you got any idea where he is? I know it's early yet but I'm just getting worried that's all... TERESA Charlie...I've got to see you. I want to talk... CHARLIE Honey, I can't talk now...I've gotta run, bye. TERESA But... 74. CHARLIE I'll see you later. He hangs up. CUT TO: INT. TONY'S PLACE - DRESSING ROOM CHARLIE can see the Negro stripper, DIANE, down the hall, in her dressing room. She is putting on her makeup. CHARLIE is still very attracted to her. He enters her room. CHARLIE Diane, how are you feeling? DIANE (COLDLY) Fine. As CHARLIE continues to talk to

stupidly

How many times the word 'stupidly' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

prisoner

How many times the word 'prisoner' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

like

How many times the word 'like' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

somebody

How many times the word 'somebody' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

effect

How many times the word 'effect' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

gian

How many times the word 'gian' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

grin

How many times the word 'grin' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

called

How many times the word 'called' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

infantry

How many times the word 'infantry' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

get

How many times the word 'get' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

became

How many times the word 'became' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

doyce

How many times the word 'doyce' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

waiting

How many times the word 'waiting' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

seemed

How many times the word 'seemed' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

means

How many times the word 'means' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

mechanical

How many times the word 'mechanical' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

looked

How many times the word 'looked' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

participants

How many times the word 'participants' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

cried

How many times the word 'cried' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

lamented

How many times the word 'lamented' appears in the text?

'I thought you knew,' she interrupted, with a smile, 'that my good nature is not to be calculated upon?' 'Don't say so,' said Mr Meagles; 'you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point.' For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. 'I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill--' He paused again, and again she was silent. '--that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge,' said Mr Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. 'I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But the question is,' Mr Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, 'did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other--any papers--with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?' 'The question is?' she repeated. 'Whose question is?' 'Mine,' said Mr Meagles. 'And not only mine but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure,' continued Mr Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, 'that you can't have any unkind feeling towards my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?' 'Upon my word,' she returned, 'I seem to be a mark for everybody who knew anything of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!' 'Now, don't,' remonstrated Mr Meagles, 'don't! Don't take offence, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare if I knew how to avoid giving you offence, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave anything here?' 'No.' 'Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?' 'I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them.' 'There!' said Mr Meagles rising. 'I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.--Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?' 'Harriet well? O yes!' 'I have put my foot in it again,' said Mr Meagles, thus corrected. 'I can't keep my foot out of it here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it.' She said nothing as to that; and Mr Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs Meagles, and where he made the Report: 'Beaten, Mother; no effects!' He took it next to the London Steam Packet, which sailed in the night; and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket towards nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy and Mrs Plornish and Mr Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her, up-stairs, in which they could wait for her, if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting, and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with her handkerchief, when he turned towards the opening door. 'Eh? Good gracious!' said Mr Meagles, 'this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, Mother, look! Tattycoram!' No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen, in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night under Double's arm. This, Tattycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet: this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, 'Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!' 'Tatty!' exclaimed Mr Meagles. 'What you wanted!' said Tattycoram. 'Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it, I heard her say she hadn't got it, I was there when he left it, and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!' 'Why, my girl,' cried Mr Meagles, more breathless than before, 'how did you come over?' 'I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf, I took another coach and followed you here. She never would have given it up after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burnt it. But, here it is!' The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her 'Here it is!' 'She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I knew well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me back again, and give me back the dear old name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!' Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. 'Oh! I have been so wretched,' cried Tattycoram, weeping much more, 'always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I saw her. I knew she had got a power over me through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me, the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know--when I even knew then--that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and a wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are? For I am not so bad as I was,' pleaded Tattycoram; 'I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe--turning everything the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in anything but keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that,' cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, 'for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say, that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, sir, I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!' Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr Meagles with pride and joy produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all passed, all forgiven, all forgotten. 'Now, my dear Miss Dorrit,' said Mr Meagles; 'I am a man of business--or at least was--and I am going to take my measures promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?' 'I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night.' 'I am much of your opinion, my dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'and therefore I have not been any nearer to him than this dismal room. Then I shall probably not see him for some little time to come. But I'll explain what I mean when you come back.' She left the room. Mr Meagles, looking through the bars of the window, saw her pass out of the Lodge below him into the prison-yard. He said gently, 'Tattycoram, come to me a moment, my good girl.' She went up to the window. 'You see that young lady who was here just now--that little, quiet, fragile figure passing along there, Tatty? Look. The people stand out of the way to let her go by. The men--see the poor, shabby fellows--pull off their hats to her quite politely, and now she glides in at that doorway. See her, Tattycoram?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I have heard tell, Tatty, that she was once regularly called the child of this place. She was born here, and lived here many years. I can't breathe here. A doleful place to be born and bred in, Tattycoram?' 'Yes indeed, sir!' 'If she had constantly thought of herself, and settled with herself that everybody visited this place upon her, turned it against her, and cast it at her, she would have led an irritable and probably an useless existence. Yet I have heard tell, Tattycoram, that her young life has been one of active resignation, goodness, and noble service. Shall I tell you what I consider those eyes of hers, that were here just now, to have always looked at, to get that expression?' 'Yes, if you please, sir.' 'Duty, Tattycoram. Begin it early, and do it well; and there is no antecedent to it, in any origin or station, that will tell against us with the Almighty, or with ourselves.' They remained at the window, Mother joining them and pitying the prisoners, until she was seen coming back. She was soon in the room, and recommended that Arthur, whom she had left calm and composed, should not be visited that night. 'Good!' said Mr Meagles, cheerily. 'I have not a doubt that's best. I shall trust my remembrances then, my sweet nurse, in your hands, and I well know they couldn't be in better. I am off again to-morrow morning.' Little Dorrit, surprised, asked him where? 'My dear,' said Mr Meagles, 'I can't live without breathing. This place has taken my breath away, and I shall never get it back again until Arthur is out of this place.' 'How is that a reason for going off again to-morrow morning?' 'You shall understand,' said Mr Meagles. 'To-night we three will put up at a City Hotel. To-morrow morning, Mother and Tattycoram will go down to Twickenham, where Mrs Tickit, sitting attended by Dr Buchan in the parlour-window, will think them a couple of ghosts; and I shall go abroad again for Doyce. We must have Dan here. Now, I tell you, my love, it's of no use writing and planning and conditionally speculating upon this and that and the other, at uncertain intervals and distances; we must have Doyce here. I devote myself at daybreak to-morrow morning, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me--I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box down-stairs for you.' They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand. 'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that _you_ should do homage to _me_--at the Marshalsea Gate.' She bent forward, and kissed his cheek. 'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good family!' It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him? CHAPTER 34. Gone On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life. When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them. Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side. 'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.' 'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!' 'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Don't.' He lifted her hand to his lips. 'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?' 'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.' 'Very often?' 'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly. 'Every day?' 'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast. 'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?' 'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite strong to-day, don't you?' 'Quite strong.' The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face. 'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?' 'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.' 'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?' 'Never!' 'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?' 'Never, dear Little Dorrit!' As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud. 'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.' Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.' 'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had _he_ property in the same hands?' 'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune is?' As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested. 'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me now?' Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand. 'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last! I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!' Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that, after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours afterwards, she went out? Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits. Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt, publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to time. 'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the humble place of conversation.' Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief. 'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I heartily wish well to both.' Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness. 'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing it.' Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great advantage. 'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not my character nor ill-will though many faults.' Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted the trust. 'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for ever say Adieu!' Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished. In this condition of things, Flora confided to Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would

hunchbacked

How many times the word 'hunchbacked' appears in the text?