There is a train for England at nine o'clock this evening,
Sir George. Take it!"
Duncombe rose from his seat.
"I am very much obliged to you," he said. "I believe that you are giving
me what you believe to be good advice. Whether I can follow it or not is
a different matter."
The Vicomte sighed.
"You Englishmen," he said, "are so obstinate. It is the anxiety
concerning your friends, I suppose, which keeps you here?"
"Yes!"
The Vicomte hesitated. He looked up and down the room, and especially at
the man whom Duncombe had pointed out to him. He had edged nearer and
nearer till he was almost within earshot. The Vicomte's voice, always
low, became a whisper.
"I can tell you this much, at any rate," he said. "Whatever their
present condition may be, it is more likely to be improved than made
worse by your departure. You are a well-meaning person, Monsieur, but
you do nobody any good here, and you risk--more than I dare tell you."
The Vicomte turned away to greet a little party of friends who had just
entered. Duncombe strolled back to the hotel, and found Spencer walking
restlessly up and down the hall waiting for him.
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