"My friends, Mr. . . ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. “Nothing has happened to Mr. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. You've nothing to do but to take possession. The door was opened, and Austin entered the cell, when he absolutely recoiled before the spectacle he beheld, and could scarcely have looked more alarmed if the prison had tumbled about his ears.
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